The Witch the World Forgot
by LiaLiar101
Summary: Beginning the summer before Harry Potter's 5th year. Snape has begun to infiltrate Voldemort's inner circle following the death of Cedric Diggory, but during a Muggle-hunting revel, an unknown woman uses magic to repel the Death Eaters. Acting on instinct, Snape rescues her, but is she really a Muggle? And how will her discovery change Snape's story, and Harry's himself?
1. The Impossible Girl

**Chapter 1 – The Impossible Girl**

Severus Snape swept into the Hospital Wing, desperately wishing he'd given into his baser impulses and poured himself a large shot of Firewhiskey before answering Dumbledore's summons.

"Ah, Severus," the old man greeted him, his sparkling blue eyes observing him benignly. "You've managed to clean up, I see."

Snape inclined his head.

"Headmaster."

"What exactly is going on, Albus?" Minerva asked, her face pinched with worry. "Who is this girl, and why have you brought her here?"

Only then, did Snape allow his eyes to travel to the prone form on the bed.

A girl – a woman, really – slumbered on, unaware of their presence at her side. If he'd had to have guessed, he'd have said she was in her early to mid-twenties, but it was difficult to tell in her current state. Her fiery red hair framed her face like a halo against the pillow, and even in sleep, her brows were furrowed as though in pain.

Beneath the sheets, Severus knew, her body was a patchwork of burns, and it would be many days before Madame Pomfrey's skills had healed the worst of the damage. Until then, she was to be kept in a magically-induced sleep, but it seemed as though some injuries weren't so easily ignored. His own burns, wrapping around his ribs and scarring the top of his left shoulder, twinged and stung beneath his robes, but he had dealt with far worse before, and he refused to let the extent of his pain show on his face.

Dumbledore observed his colleagues over the top of his half-moon spectacles, and with a heavy sigh, turned to face him.

"Perhaps you'd better tell the story, Severus," he said. "You're the only one who was there."

With a sigh of his own, he crossed his arms in front of his chest – a protective gesture left over from childhood – and looked between Minerva and Poppy, before turning his dark eyes back to the woman on the bed.

"Earlier this evening, I was summoned by the Dark Lord to one of his Muggle-hunting trips," he began, distaste colouring his voice. "When I arrived, the – how shall we say? – _festivities_ were in full swing, but it soon became clear that something was wrong."

He paused to gather his thoughts, and occlude his mind against the smell of burning flesh and echoes of helpless screams, as the Death Eaters had blasted their way through a village pub and slaughtered anyone they'd found there.

"The pub had been blown apart by the time I arrived, and the Death Eaters had broken up into groups, some killing outright, some torturing the Muggles they'd found for sport."

Poppy raised a hand to her mouth, and Minerva looked decidedly ill.

"Then, all of a sudden, there was an explosion of power from behind one of the falling walls."

He furrowed his brow, remembering the way the golden light had jettisoned into the cold night air, forcing the Death Eaters back and propelling Fenrir Greyback into the trees.

"No-one knew what was happening," he continued. "The fires Bellatrix had set began to leap and twist, until they morphed into an immense and incredibly powerful whirlwind."

"Of course," Minerva said bitterly. "I should have known she was behind this."

But Snape simply shook his head.

"No, Minerva," he corrected. "I said she'd set the fires, but she wasn't the one controlling them. A woman was standing in the middle of the tornado. She looked…."

He trailed off, recalling the way the figure had stood, arms outstretched, hair flying, her face a mask of fear, pain, and wonder, as the flames had danced around her.

"She looked… Terrified." He said at length. "She had no idea what she was doing. It was like watching a child making something fly across the room for the first time. She was acting purely on instinct, and what's more, she couldn't control it. But even so, no matter how many curses the Death Eaters sent her way, they couldn't penetrate the vortex. It was pandemonium. Bellatrix was cursing and shrieking, and the Carrows looked fit to lose their minds with anger. In the middle of it all, a wall of flame leapt at the Dark Lord, and he hardly had time to repel it. It's the only time I've ever seen him truly frightened."

He paused again, his eyes drawn inexorably to the sleeping woman.

"Then, the fire just seemed to burst out of everywhere. The trees caught light and the ground began almost to boil."

He recalled again the scene: the Dark Lord screaming for someone to _Stop her! Stop her and bring her to me!_ and then the fear that had leapt like a spark between his followers, as their leader had Disapparated in a flurry of black smoke.

"The Death Eaters simply fled," Severus said with disgust. "They had no idea what was happening, and they couldn't subdue her, so they ran."

Minerva's eyes were like saucers, and Poppy's hands were trembling.

"And then?" The Medi-witch breathed.

"And then…"

He looked again to the bed, remembering that it had been just the two of them left, and as he'd lowered his wand, their gaze had locked. The depth of the helplessness in those brown eyes had taken his breath away, and as he'd held up his hands in placation, she'd simply dropped her arms to her sides, and collapsed with exhaustion.

He shook his hair in front of his face and continued, unwilling to identify the emotion now tightening his chest.

"When the Death Eaters had Disapparated, she fell to the ground," he said. "But the fires were everywhere. I managed to put most of them out fairly quickly, but I had to battle through to get to her, and by the time I'd got there her clothes had caught light, and, well…"

He swallowed the bile in his throat and gestured towards the bed, where he knew her body was blackened and raw. When he'd reached her side, he'd never seen a person so consumed by fire. He'd cast spells quicker than he'd ever done in his life, and used his own body to put the last of the flames out when that had failed. But by the time it had been extinguished, her clothes had simply melted off her body, and all he could see was blistering skin and large, gaping wounds splitting open from her neck-down. He'd thought she was as good as dead when he'd lifted her up, but as his arms slipped beneath her, she'd cried out and clung to the front of his robes like a child.

"Please," she'd begged him. "Please."

The moment she'd lost consciousness, he'd already known he couldn't leave her behind.

Silence followed the end of his tale, and the four of them watched the sleeping woman with varying expressions of horror and pity. It was Minerva who finally broke the quiet.

"But… She's a Muggle," she said disbelievingly. "A Muggle couldn't possibly have done what you say, Severus, she just couldn't!"

Snape felt his jaw clench.

"Are you calling me a liar, Minerva?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Of course not, Severus, it's just that-"

But he cut her off, drawing himself up in a manner he knew still terrified his students.

"Either you think I'm a liar," he continued silkily. "Or you think so little of my intelligence that you believe I was fooled by some sort of a trick. So, it falls to me to discern, which is it? Am I a liar, or a fool, Minerva?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Professor Dumbledore held up his hand for quiet, his expression troubled.

"I can confirm that Severus, you are not a liar," he said wearily. "But we are all of us, mistaken."

Suddenly, the old wizard appeared unbearably tired.

"What do you mean, Albus?" Poppy asked.

He stared gravely at them, his blue eyes no longer twinkling.

"It is impossible that a Muggle could do this, you are quite correct, but this woman is not a Muggle. Neither, however, is she a trained witch."

He allowed this last statement to settle into the uneasy atmosphere, and Severus felt his mouth go dry.

"Do you mean to say, Headmaster," he began slowly. "That this woman is an Undiscovered?"

Poppy and Minerva gasped, and Dumbledore nodded.

"That is indeed what I believe, Severus," he said.

"But we haven't had an Undiscovered witch or wizard for centuries!" Minerva exclaimed. "How has she stayed hidden all this time? Surely her magical signature should have been picked up and recorded the moment she was born, or at the very least, she should have manifested as an Obscurial and broken cover long before now. She's twenty-five if she's a day. It simply doesn't make sense, Albus!"

"I know, Minerva," the Headmaster answered, worry creasing his face. "But it's clear she isn't a Muggle. Nor is there a record of her at the Ministry, and from the behaviour Severus has described, she's clearly never had any magical tuition. The question now, is just how she managed to stay hidden, and what we should do with her now that she's been found."

The four of them looked down at the sleeping figure, and somewhere deep in Snape's chest, he felt fear.


	2. Quid Pro Quo

**Chapter 2 – Quid Pro Quo**

It had been three days since he'd pulled the Undiscovered witch out of the burning ruins, and Severus thought he'd coped quite well, all things considered. He'd been brewing burn-paste and pain relievers day and night, working until his arms ached from chopping, and taking slightly more than the recommended dose of Pepper-Up potion to get by. He knew, even as he did it, that he'd pay for his behaviour later, but in this fugue state of exhaustion and industry, he'd barely thought about the unknown woman once. At least, that's what he told himself.

At 2 a.m., on the third night after he'd first rushed into the castle holding her still-smoking body in his arms, however, his exhaustion finally got the better of him. In a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness, the silver knife he'd been using to cut mandrake root with slipped suddenly from his grasp, and sliced clean through the tip of his thumb. He swore loudly, and clamped a nearby cloth to the wound, which quickly turned a livid shade of red.

"Bloody fool," he chastised himself, as he realised that because of the awkward angle, he'd need Poppy's assistance to close the skin.

Sighing deeply, he cast a stasis charm over the still-bubbling cauldron and swept from the dungeons, thanking a nameless deity that the start of term was still two days away, and the students yet to arrive. He dreaded to think of the number of House Points he'd have to deduct if any of the little dunderheads saw him bleeding everywhere – especially if it was his own fault. The thought of the students' return in general, and Potter's return in particular, did nothing to improve his mood.

Inside the Hospital Wing, though, the room was quiet and peaceful, the moonlight spilling through the large windows and illuminating the far end of the room. Only one bed was occupied, and Severus could just make out the silhouette of the sleeping woman lying behind the drawn curtain.

"Poppy?" He enquired half-heartedly into the stillness, but there was no answer. Observing that the door to her quarters was shut, he felt his feet move, as if by their own volition, towards the end of the room.

Hesitating at the fabric threshold, he cast a guilty glance around, and then immediately straightened to his full height as awareness surged through him. He was no misbehaving student, for Merlin's sake! He was Professor Severus Snape – the youngest Potions Master Hogwarts had ever known; Death Eater turned spy for the Order of the Phoenix; and not to mention, this woman's rescuer. Why shouldn't he stop in to see how she's doing? And to Hell with anyone who challenged him!

Cursing himself for a coward, he pulled the curtain aside, and stepped up to the end of the bed. Her pillow was bathed in silver moonlight, and under its soft glow, her skin appeared pearlescent. Her hair, too, caught the light in such a way, that he was reminded forcefully of a night many years ago, when he had snuck out of the castle with Lily Evans, and her hair had shimmered with the same ghostly sheen.

The sudden onslaught of the memory brought him up short, and he pinched the edge of his cut to bring himself back to the present. Almost involuntarily, he found himself moving forwards and brushing a few strands of the nameless woman's hair through his fingers, in a way he'd never managed to with Lily. An unexpected waft of orange blossom met his sensitive nose, and he inhaled deeply before stepping away.

"Who are you?" He murmured into the darkness. "Where did you come from?"

He was answered only with silence, and a sudden weariness assailed him. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and sank gratefully into it. When was the last time he'd sat down?

"Fool," he said aloud, and ran a tired hand across his eyes. He'd get Poppy in a moment, he thought. He just wanted to rest here for a while.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Severus's eyes snapped open, and in abject confusion, he attempted to focus on the room. He wasn't in his quarters – that much was clear – and the throbbing in his hand was enough to make him wince. Groaning, he manoeuvred himself into a more comfortable sitting position, and stared uncomprehendingly out of the window, and over the moon-washed grounds.

Ah. So, he was still in the Hospital Wing, then. That was a mistake. But at least it was still dark, and at least Poppy hadn't woken up and discovered him sitting here like an unwanted guest. All there was left to do now, was-

"You're bleeding, you know," a voice said beside him.

Adrenaline surged in his chest, but he wasn't a spy for nothing. With his face betraying none of his unsettled emotions, he turned his head to his left, and came face-to-face with the unknown witch.

She'd somehow managed to prop herself up on her pillows without aid, and despite the pain she must have been in, her bright eyes were looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Good evening," he said stiffly, for want of anything better. "You're not meant to be awake yet."

A smile lit up her face, and for a moment he was taken aback. People didn't smile at Severus Snape.

"Sorry," she said. "Someone must have forgotten to give me my sleeping schedule."

He lifted an eyebrow in response.

"Indeed."

They stared at each other for a while, and she cocked her head to one side, considering him.

"What did you do to your hand?" She asked at last.

He looked down at the cloth pressed to his thumb. It was now sodden with his own blood, and if he'd been a squeamish man, he might have felt nauseous.

"I was chopping mandrake root and slipped," he answered truthfully.

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"And what did you need mandrake root for?" She asked.

"A healing potion," he replied, watching closely for her reaction.

A flash of something akin to curiosity moved behind her eyes, and then it was quickly replaced by fear.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she broke their eye contact to lower her face to her bandaged hands.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?"

He fought down an absurd urge to comfort her, and instead simply shifted forward slightly in his chair.

"No," he said after a pause. "It wasn't a dream."

She absorbed this information in silence, and when she finally raised her eyes to his again, he saw defiance there.

"Explain." She demanded, and Severus was impressed, despite himself.

He observed her for a moment over the fingertips of his undamaged hand, and then made a decision.

"I will answer any and all questions you put to me," he promised. "Unless, of course, my answer would put other people in danger. But, in return, you will answer my questions truthfully, giving as much information as you can, and you will agree to stay here until such time as Professor Dumbledore decides it is safe for you to leave. Do we have an agreement?"

She looked at him steadily, and then nodded once, before smiling and shaking her head as though remembering something that amused her. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

" _Quid pro quo_ , Clarice," she smiled wryly in response, and he felt the ghost of a smile pass across his face in the dark.

"Quite," he agreed. "But I am not Hannibal Lecter, and neither of us are under arrest."

"You know Silence of the Lambs?" She asked disbelievingly.

"I do," he answered simply. "But I do believe that was your first question, so now it's my turn."

Ignoring her outraged expression, he pressed home his advantage, and leant still further forward in his chair.

"Who in Merlin's name are you, and how did you come to use magic?"


	3. Ministers and Toads

Hello! Just wanted to say thank you to Venitia-chan for my first ever review, and thanks to all of you who've started to follow this little tale! As this is my first story I really appreciate everyone's feedback, so keep it coming

Hope you enjoy the next instalment!

 **Chapter 3 – Ministers and Toads**

The sun was just beginning to rise over Hogwarts, and Severus found himself, once again, pacing distractedly back and forth across Dumbledore's office, while the older wizard observed him calmly over his spectacles.

"It doesn't make any sense," he said for the third time, running his fingers absent-mindedly over the silvery line on his thumb which had, only hours before, been dripping blood.

"Tell me again, Severus," the Headmaster said, the dark rings under his eyes the only evidence that he hadn't slept.

Snape lowered his hands and flung himself into the chair opposite Dumbledore, his jaw clenching and unclenching rhythmically.

"Her name is Amelia Bristol," he began again. "She is twenty-six years old. She works in the Muggle world as a small-time theatre marketer, and until the Death Eaters attacked the pub she was drinking in – alone - three days ago, she had no idea about the existence of the magical world."

"Had she ever used magic before?"

Snape sighed heavily.

"She says she's always been aware that she can snuff out candles at a distance and move water without touching it, but she was under the impression that the revealing of this to a medical professional would likely lead to her being locked up in a mental institution – a belief I am inclined to agree with – and so she kept it to herself, never knowing if it was a real or imagined power she possessed. That night at the pub was the first time she felt, what she described as 'uncontrollable power' manifesting itself within her, and quite frankly, she seems remarkably calm for someone who witnessed what she did when the Death Eaters attacked."

Dumbledore hummed noncommittally and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. Severus scowled at the man's silence, and cast his eyes towards the sun that was now looming above the horizon and turning the sky into a bright, blue-grey. He wondered if he'd have time to sleep at all before the students arrived the next day. Minutes passed. The only sounds were Dumbledore sucking on his sweet and the occasional ruffle of Fawkes's feathers. Finally, Severus could stand it no longer.

"Well, Albus?" He demanded.

"Hm?"

"Do you have any theories?"

"As a matter of fact, Severus, I do," Dumbledore answered mildly.

"And?" He asked through gritted teeth, when it became clear the Headmaster had no intention of elaborating. "What are they?"

"I'd rather not say just yet," the elderly wizard answered. "But rest assured, as soon as they are confirmed, you will be the first to know, my boy."

Severus huffed through his nose, but didn't make a move to leave.

"There is something else praying on your mind, I think?" Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. Snape sighed grudgingly and nodded.

"There is. The Dark Lord will be getting impatient. He will want to know what happened to her. What should I tell him when I am summoned?"

"Tell him the truth," Dumbledore answered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tell him that you were interested by her power and so brought her back to Hogwarts where she could be healed. Convince Voldemort that you thought it better to keep her alive, should she reveal further secrets beyond simply the late manifestation of magic in a supposed Muggle. If I know Tom, he will be intrigued beyond measure, and will find your explanation perfectly acceptable."

Snape nodded slowly.

"I had been thinking along similar lines," he admitted.

"But?" Dumbledore smiled.

"But what do we do with her? We can't just send her back now she's manifested. And if she leaves here the Dark Lord will undoubtedly seek her out."

"I should have thought that were obvious, my boy."

"Oh?"

"She will have to stay here as a student."

A moment's pause, and then:

"A _student_?" Snape exclaimed. "You can't be serious!"

"Oh, I am perfectly serious, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Amelia has been denied an education in our world for reasons that are – as yet – unclear, but now she has been found we cannot fail to teach her how to control her magic, nor can we simply choose to send her back to live amongst Muggles. As you say, it is not safe for her outside these walls at the present time, but more than this, she does not belong in their world any more than you or I do. No, I think it is perfectly clear that Amelia must stay here with us, and undertake her magical studies in the same way any of our young charges would."

Snape stared at the old man, his mind racing.

"You know the Ministry won't like this," he said at last.

"I do."

"And you're prepared to fight them on this point?"

"I am."

"Even considering the current state of things?"

"I would say, especially considering the current state of things." Dumbledore replied.

Snape nodded slowly.

"And what of her studies?"

"Hm?"

"Well, we can hardly put her in classes with the first years, can we? And it's not as if she's a child that can share a dormitory with the other girls – she's a fully-grown woman, for Merlin's sake!"

"And she shall have to be treated as such, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "I'm sure in a castle this size we can secure Amelia her own living quarters, and as for lessons, I believe a little private tuition in each of the core subjects will do to start with. You and the other teachers will simply have to tell me when, each week, you can dedicate a free period or two to her, and we'll draw up a timetable, and monitor how quickly she progresses."

Snape's face was thunderous.

"I don't mean to be difficult, Headmaster," he said dangerously. "But where, in amongst my full teaching schedule, work for the Order, restocking the Hospital Wing's potions stores, and babysitting your Mr. Potter, am I to be expected to find time to tutor a single student outside of classroom hours?"

But Dumbledore merely chuckled.

"Come now, Severus. According to Poppy, you've more than replenished her stores of the most common potions over the last few days alone, and two to four hours a week will not put you out too much, I'm sure."

Snape folded his arms and glared down his nose at the old man.

"I believe I should be the judge of that, Headmaster-," he said, but just as he was about to press home his point, the door to Dumbledore's office burst open.

The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and a short, toad-like woman in a saccharine pink dress, strode officiously into the room. Snape turned the full force of his glare on them as they entered, and was gratified to see Fudge recoil slightly, even as the woman fixed him with a simpering smile.

"Good morning, Minister," Dumbledore greeted him genially. "A little early for a visit, isn't it?"

"Sorry to burst in on you like this, Dumbledore," Fudge said, although in Snape's opinion, he didn't seem sorry in the slightest. "I'm afraid this couldn't wait. You see, I wanted to ensure that Dolores here met with the rest of your staff before the students arrive tomorrow, but when I got to my office, I was informed that you had an unregistered magical person hidden at the school. I don't need to tell you that the penalty for hiding an Obscurial, is-"

"-A fairly lengthy stay in Azkaban, and the loss of a witch or wizard's wand," Dumbledore interrupted him. "Yes, Cornelius, I am quite well aware of our by-laws, having written a great many of them myself."

Snape watched as Fudge puffed himself up self-importantly.

"Well in that case, Dumbledore, would you care to explain yourself?"

"I believe I can explain that, Minister," Snape interjected smoothly.

"Oh, you can, can you?" Fudge challenged.

Snape simply stared at him, until the toady little woman at his side gave a girlish cough, and laid her hand on his arm. He jerked away instinctively.

"Well, Professor?" She asked. "What is your explanation?"

"Quite simply – _Dolores_ , was it?" He sneered. "Amelia is not an Obscurial. She is an Undiscovered."

Fudge's face grew deathly pale.

"But-, but-, but-," he spluttered. "We haven't had an Undiscovered for-"

"488 years," Dumbledore said. "According to my old friend Nicholas Flamel's _Collected Histories,_ which I happened to have been reading through last night."

Dolores' high-pitched cough, which Snape was beginning to suspect meant she intended to speak, rent the air.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," she opined. "But don't you think it seems a little… Unlikely, that the Ministry should have missed this so-called Undiscovered for – how long did you say?"

"She is twenty-six years old," Dumbledore answered calmly.

"Well, exactly, Dumbledore!" Fudge blustered. "I refuse to believe that an Undiscovered could have gone so long in this day and age without being found. Now-"

But the Headmaster simply held up is hand.

"If you'll pardon the cliché, Minister, perhaps seeing is believing?" He said.

Snape surveyed him sharply. Surely he wasn't suggesting-

"If you would like to accompany me to the Hospital Wing, Cornelius, I'm sure we will have this cleared up in no time."

Severus sighed inwardly. Of course, that was exactly what he was suggesting.

By mid-afternoon, Snape was exhausted, and his temper was so foul even he had noticed that he was snapping at his colleagues more than usual. Fudge and Umbridge had spent the morning casting diagnostic spells over Amelia's bed, while Dumbledore stood benevolently by and talked about the many interesting things he'd found in Flamel's collected works; apparently oblivious to the fact that he was the only one who found any of it in the slightest bit interesting.

Meanwhile, the pounding in his head as the last of the Pepper-Up potion finally left his system began with a vengeance, and every time the pink-wrapped toad affected her little cough, he felt as though a spike were being driven through his eyes and into his skull. Even worse, he'd discovered during the course of the morning, that the insipid little Ministry woman was going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and that he had been passed over for the role yet again.

As a result, he'd spent the best part of the morning standing by the Hospital Wing's window, giving his best 'do not cross me' scowl to anyone who so much as dared to glance his way. Anyone, that is, except Amelia, he reminded himself, as he finally made his way to his quarters, where a vial of Dreamless Sleep and an uninterrupted 16 hours of rest awaited him.

He didn't know what it was about her, but he seemed wholly incapable of playing the bully where she was concerned. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was because only he had seen what had truly happened that night, and he was loath to make her life more difficult before she was fully healed. Whatever it was, the feeling seemed to be mutual.

When Dumbledore had first swept to her bedside with Fudge and Umbridge hot on his heels, Amelia's face had betrayed a level of terror that Snape hadn't expected, given how calmly she'd greeted him when he'd fallen asleep at her side only hours earlier. But the moment she'd spotted him there as well, she'd relaxed back into her bed, and allowed them to carry out the tests they needed with scarcely a complaint, until the newcomers were forced to conclude that she wasn't, in fact, an Obscurial after all.

As he entered his living quarters and began to strip down for bed, he remembered with a sudden rush of warmth, the way her eyes had sought his out at the start of every new spell, as though seeking assurance that she wouldn't be harmed. Could it be that she trusted him? He snorted aloud at the thought. No, he was definitely delirious with exhaustion. People did not trust Severus Snape, and he would do well to remember it. It was with this final thought, that he slid between his emerald green sheets, swallowed the potion in one mouthful, and drifted into a grateful and uninterrupted sleep.


	4. Thestrals and Thunderbirds

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story so far! The next few chapters will be more focused on Amelia, so please let me know what you think.

Also, if anyone could tell me how to get a horizontal line between story sections when I'm jumping time-periods within the same chapter, I'd be super grateful. I've tried putting loads of asterisks in a line with this document to show the change, but not sure if it will work, so if anyone has any tips that would be great!

Anyway, here we go:

 **Chapter 4 – Thestrals and Thunderbirds**

In the Hospital Wing that night, while Snape slept the sleep of the drugged and exhausted, Amelia sat alone and stared out of the window. As she watched, a strange, winged, horse-like creature rose high over the tops of the trees, and a lonely smile touched at the corners of her lips. Beneath her bandages, her burns were almost fully healed, but Poppy had told her she could expect to have dry skin for weeks to come. Part of her was grateful it wouldn't simply disappear.

Although Professor Snape had thought she was coping well, the truth was, she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a firm grip on reality, and her blasé attitude to their conversation had been a way of pushing away details she couldn't yet comprehend. The burns, at least, she knew were real, but when they vanished, what could she hold onto when it began to feel as though the world was spinning out of her control?

Now, left alone in the dark, she drew a deep breath in and tried to sort through the things she had learnt. First, that magic was real. This, in itself, didn't shock her. From her earliest memories she'd felt it; this strange warmth moving through and around her. But as she'd grown older, and realised that this was a power other people didn't have, she'd forced the knowledge away from herself as though its mere acknowledgement would mark her out as mad. Still, she'd maintained it as an uneasy secret. While alone in her kitchen, she'd sent water droplets skittering across her worktops, and delighted in making the candles in her living room grow and sway.

What had happened at the pub, though, had shaken her to her very core. When the people in masks had blasted the walls away, and the kindly bartender she'd struck up a conversation with had dropped dead at her feet, she'd felt something deep within her soul begin to strain and snap. The power had burst out of her just as Fenrir Greyback, his teeth bared and his mouth caked in blood, had leered into her face and prepared to pounce, and as the fire had danced and bloomed around her, she'd lost control. Truly, she'd expected to die, and when the flames finally retreated and gentle arms had swept beneath her, she'd clung to them as though they were her only lifeline. She supposed, in fact, they had been.

If she hadn't seen the carnage with her own eyes, she'd have been convinced she'd lost her mind, and a little part of her still supposed that this could all be some kind of elaborate fever dream, or a whole world created in the midst of a coma. And yet… And yet. The existence of the magical world struck her as inexplicably right, and she couldn't bring herself to doubt it. But the knowledge that an entire universe had always existed beneath the one she knew – a world of witches and wizards, strange beasts and magical wars – would take far longer to get used to. That she had seen people die, and very nearly died herself, she supposed, with a shudder, she might never put to rest.

As the winged horse was joined by another in the air, she lay back against her pillows and wondered what would happen to her now. She thought of her friends – the only real family she'd ever known – and whether they would be looking for her. She hoped that wherever they were, they were safe, and they knew that she missed them. Her last thought as she drifted into a fitful sleep, was of the dark eyes of the man who had saved her, staring out at her from behind the leering face of his soot-streaked Death Eater's mask.

"Good morning, Miss Bristol!" Dumbledore greeted her almost as soon as she'd opened her eyes.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she answered blearily.

"I hear you and Professor Snape have been getting on rather well since the start of your stay here?"

The black-clad professor behind him snorted derisively.

"Hardly, Headmaster," he drawled. "It has simply fallen to me to teach Miss Bristol about the existence of our world, since _you_ find yourself conveniently too busy to take up the role."

He glared pointedly at the older man, and was startled to see Amelia attempting to disguise a smile when he turned back to the bed.

"Yes, yes, alright now Severus," Dumbledore smiled easily. "I know I have imposed upon much of your time these last few days, which is why I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear that I've requested that Hagrid be the one to escort Miss Bristol to Diagon Alley today for the purchase of her new school things."

"New school things, Professor?" Amelia asked, as Snape's eyebrows drew together into a scowl.

"But of course!" Dumbledore beamed. "You'll need your textbooks, a wand, potions equipment, and if you would like, a Familiar in the form of either a cat, a toad, or an owl. The students will be arriving this evening, and term will start the day after tomorrow on Monday, so it will be best for you if you buy everything today. You'll find it all here in your – I'm sorry to say, much-delayed - acceptance letter."

His eyes twinkled as he handed her an envelope of thick parchment with emerald green writing on the front, which read:

 _Ms. Amelia Bristol_

 _7_ _th_ _Bed, Hospital Wing_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

She laughed and tore open the seal, scanning through her welcome documents with mounting excitement. For some reason, the fact she was holding the letter in her hand solidified her new reality far more than any of the strange things she'd already seen, and a thrill of excitement leapt through her. She was a witch. She was going to buy a wand. It was all really real!

She couldn't wait to leave, and was halfway out of bed and reaching for the robes Poppy had lent her when Snape finally found his voice.

"Hagrid?" He said in disbelief. "Are you sure that's wise, Headmaster?"

Amelia paused, her borrowed robes clutched in one hand.

"Is something wrong with Hagrid?" She asked nervously.

"I don' think so!" I great booming voice sounded from the doorway. "Not ye', anyway."

She turned to see a giant of a man, with a wild bushy beard and kind, smiling eyes bearing down on them. Immediately, she relaxed and returned his smile.

"So, you're Hagrid?" she greeted him.

"Las' time I look'd I were, aye," he answered, gripping her fingers in a bone-crushing handshake. "Pleased ter meet ye,' Amelia, in't it?"

She nodded and grinned, massaging her hand.

"Lia, if you'd prefer, and I'm pleased to meet you too! Haven't I seen you out in the grounds? What was that horse you were with earlier today? I've seen them flying over the forest at night."

Professor Dumbledore and Snape exchanged an uneasy glance, and Hagrid hesitated before answering.

"Ah, so ye' can see Thestrals then, can ye'?" He said evasively.

Amelia frowned.

"Of course, I can see them," she answered. "Shouldn't I be able to?"

"Well…" Hagrid seemed to be searching for the right words, and Professor Snape stepped in smoothly.

"Not everyone has the required life experience to look upon a Thestral," he answered. "But rest assured, all four of us standing here can see them, too."

"So, there's nothing wrong with being able to see them?"

He surveyed her for a long moment.

"No, nothing at all."

Amelia smiled gratefully at him, and then looked back to Hagrid.

"So, when are we leaving?"

"Whenev'r ye' ready. Just ge' them robes on an' I'll meet ye' in th' Entrance Hall."

She nodded eagerly, but didn't miss the way Professor Snape's mouth opened as if to say something, before he was silenced by a stern look from Dumbledore.

Shaking it from her mind as the men left, she rushed to get ready, barely wincing as the strange new robes slid across her still-sore skin. There was so much she wanted to see.

Severus watched from the clock tower as Hagrid and Amelia walked across the grounds, chatting animatedly together as though they were old friends. Despite his outwardly calm appearance, beneath his robes, his hands were clenched and his knuckles white. What in Archimedes' name was Dumbledore thinking? The Dark Lord would be looking for any chance to get at the Undiscovered witch who had caused him so much trouble, and to send her off to Diagon Alley with only Hagrid for a bodyguard? It was ludicrous!

As the two of them mounted Hagrid's death trap of a flying motorcycle and disappeared from sight, Severus turned on the spot and strode towards his study in a billow of black robes. Well, it was out of his control now, wasn't it? Dumbledore had seen to that. If the first Undiscovered witch in 488 years ended up dead at the hands of the Death Eaters, then it was hardly his fault, was it? That guilt would be solely Dumbledore's to bear, and he'd make damn sure the man knew it.

As he stormed into the potions lab and began to chop ingredients for more burn paste, Severus took a number of calming breaths through his nose. He was not going to spend all day worrying about the witch. He wasn't. He had done all he could and she was no concern of his. Nevertheless, he admitted to himself in private, as he began to relax into the steady rhythm of potion making, it was only natural for him to feel protective of her, given that he'd been the one to bring her here. There was nothing wrong with that. And if it was also down to him to prevent the crackpot old fool and the well-meaning half-giant from getting her killed, before she'd had the chance to so much as start her first term at Hogwarts, then so be it. Thanks to Potter, he'd had more than enough experience of babysitting an incompetent. Why should she be any different?

Despite the concerns of a certain Potions Master, Amelia couldn't remember a day when she'd had so much fun, or felt more at home. Flying across the country on Hagrid's motorbike had been exhilarating, and after she'd grown tired of whooping and cheering as the wind whipped past them, the half-giant had told her tales of the castle, including of Professor Snape's fearsome reputation, and her rescuer's long-term distaste for a certain Harry Potter.

As they'd passed over the Midlands, she'd listened, wide-eyed, to the tale of Lord Voldemort's attack on Harry and his parents, and pondered with growing unease Snape's role as a double agent for the Order. She'd laughed aloud with wonder at Hagrid's nonchalant description of dragons, and by the time they'd touched down in London, and the story of the tragic ending to the TriWizard Tournament had been completed, she had a good idea that she and this Harry Potter may well get on far better than she'd first thought.

However, she kept this supposition to herself, and as they passed through the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, every coherent thought seemed to fly out of her head. The place was a marvel. Everywhere she looked, there were witches and wizards, and she could feel the magic humming in the air and skittering across her skin. Her mouth dropped open when she stepped into Gringotts to convert her Muggle money into Galleons, and promptly came face-to-face with her first goblin, and by the time they'd bought her potions ingredients, spellbooks, and robes, she felt like a child who'd been given too much sugar.

Then, of course, it was time for the visit she had most been looking forward to: Ollivander's. Hagrid waited outside while she stepped into the musty shop, and she breathed in deeply the scents of wood and resin, and the indefinable, electrical tang of suppressed magic.

"Good afternoon?" A soft voice enquired, and she jumped as the watery eyes of Mr. Ollivander sought her out from behind the counter.

Heart pounding, she put on her best smile, and strode towards him.

"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander. I have a note here from Professor Dumbledore."

She handed him the envelope, and watched nervously as he scanned the document, before his eyes lit up and he raised his face to look at her.

"My, my," he murmured. "An Undiscovered? After all these years?"

She nodded uncomfortably, and forced a weak smile.

"So they tell me," she said.

"Well, this should be very interesting," he said. "Very interesting indeed."

Three hours later, neither Mr. Ollivander, Amelia, or Hagrid were finding it very interesting anymore. The wandmaker's shop was in disarray. Avalanches of thin boxes were scattered across the floor, some with their lids missing, some with their wands still shooting sparks haphazardly around the room. Amelia was beginning to feel like a fraud, and she'd apologised so many times that the word "sorry" had started to sound like gobbledegook.

"Maybe there's been some kind of a mistake," she said again, as the most recent wand leapt out of her hands and buried itself in a crack in the floorboards.

"No, there's been no mistake, Miss Bristol," Ollivander assured her. "You possess a very powerful magic. The problem is finding a wand that's willing to take you on…"

He began to hum thoughtfully to himself as Amelia regarded him sceptically.

"What do you mean, 'a wand that's willing to take me on'?" She asked, perplexed.

"The wand chooses the witch, Miss Bristol. That much has always been clear to those of us who've studied Wandlore. Now, I wonder…"

A feverish light lit up the old man's eyes, and he hurried into a backroom without another word.

Amelia caught Hagrid's eye, and the half-giant, who'd come inside an hour earlier when it had seemed as though they were no closer to finding her a wand, shook his head ruefully.

"Don' mind 'im," he said. "'e's a brilliant man, is Ollivander, but, well…"

"The line between madness and genius is sometimes a thin one?" She smiled.

"Exac'ly!" Hagrid agreed.

At that moment, Ollivander returned to the room, and Amelia felt a ripple of energy in the air. In his hands, was a deep purple box with sparks of light engraved around the edges.

"I wonder, my dear," he said. "If this wand may be the right one for you."

Even before he'd removed the lid, she knew they'd found the one. Lying in its box, the pale, elegant object seemed to draw her towards it, and as her hand closed around the handle, warmth flooded through her body and sparks seemed to leap between her fingers. Instantly, her magic seemed to bind with that of the core, and no sooner had she held it, than she couldn't imagine ever having survived so long without it.

"It's perfect," she breathed, as the wide, delighted eyes of her two companions stared back at her, amazed.

Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and regarded her hungrily.

"Willow, 10.5 inches, nice and supple," he said. "Magnificent. Just magnificent!"

Her fingers still clasping the remarkable object, Amelia regarded him warily.

"Excuse me, but what's so magnificent, sir?" She asked.

"My dear girl, did you see when you stepped inside, the sign showing the three cores I use to make my wands?"

She nodded.

"Dragon heart-string, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather," she said, leaving out the fact that she was still finding it hard to believe that dragons, unicorns, and phoenixes were anything more than fairy stories.

"Very good," he said. "Now, would you like to have a guess at what your wand's core is?"

She hesitated, rolling it reverently back and forth in her hands.

"Phoenix feather?" She asked hopefully.

"Wrong!" He chuckled. "But you are, in many ways, close, and I am being unfair. You see, I only make my wands with these three cores, but my father, long before his death, made one very special wand – a very special wand indeed - using a feather he'd taken from a Thunderbird."

"Yer kiddin?!" Hagrid had jumped to his feet.

"What's a Thunderbird?" Amelia asked, looking quizzically between them.

"A Thunderbird is a legendary creature," Mr. Ollivander answered. "More powerful than the phoenix, although less long-lived, it is only once in a generation that a feather can be found, and the wands they create are both exceptionally powerful and difficult to master. Once mastered, however, they are an exceptional tool, capable of sensing danger and casting curses on their own to protect the one who wields it."

Amelia looked down with wonder at her new wand, a blissful smile spreading across her face.

"And it chose me?" She hardly dared to whisper.

"It certainly did," Mr. Ollivander agreed. "It certainly did."


	5. The Sorting Ceremony

Hello everyone! Thank you for your kind reviews so far – I really appreciate them. And huge thanks to Acro Acro for helping me out with my line breaks, and for the lovely words!

/…/

 **Chapter 5 – The Sorting Ceremony**

After the excitement of finding her wand, Amelia could hardly wait to get back to Hogwarts and start practicing, but Hagrid managed to persuade her to make one more stop before they returned. Eeylops Owl Emporium was as cacophonous as she'd expected, and with her wand stashed carefully in the bag at her side, she laughed with joy at the many different owls she could choose from.

"What d'ye fancy?" Hagrid asked. "Snowy? Tawny? Them Eagle owls are a good choice, I reckon."

But some habits die hard, and Amelia knew exactly the kind of owl she was looking for; she wanted the one no-one else would pick.

At the back of the shop, huddled mournfully in a dark corner, she found the one she wanted. A small black fluffball, with downcast eyes and a shuddering gait, that made her heart ache to protect it.

"I want this one," she declared confidently, bending low and looking comfortingly into its dark eyes. The bird cocked its head to one side, and then let out a single soft hoot in agreement, before hopping up to the bars of the cage, and nipping her fingers affectionately.

"The Lesser Sooty Owl, eh?" Hagrid said. "'E's a bit o' a runt, that one. Are ye' sure ye wouldn't want a bigger one?"

But Amelia shook her head firmly.

"I think he's perfect," she said.

Hagrid chuckled into his beard.

"Ah, yer like me, ye are!" He laughed. "Always pickin' up the ones no-one wants."

He smiled proudly down at her, and Amelia beamed.

/…/

After somehow managing to keep hold of her tiny owl in his too-large cage during a hair-raising return trip on the motorbike, Amelia was more than ready to collapse into bed. When she reached the Hospital Wing, however, she found Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape waiting for her.

"Hello, dear!" Poppy said. "Did you get everything you need?"

"I think so," she replied excitedly. "I even have my own wand!"

"Oh, how wonderful!" The Medi-witch smiled. "What core did he find for you?"

Inexplicably, Amelia felt herself blush, and she set her owl down to reach into the box and bring out her wand. Immediately, she noticed both Poppy and Snape take an involuntary step forward.

"What an unusual wand," the other woman breathed.

"Yeah, well," Amelia shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "It took over three hours to find, but in the end, Mr. Ollivander brought me one his father had made."

"And the core?" Snape asked, sounding bored.

"Thunderbird feather," she said, unconsciously drawing herself up and meeting his gaze. She thought for a moment she saw a flicker of surprise in the taciturn man's dark eyes, but then it was gone.

Poppy, on the other hand, was far more exuberant.

"A Thunderbird feather?" She exclaimed. "They're so rare! And Willow, if I'm not very much mistaken?"

Amelia nodded.

"Excellent wood for healing spells," the Medi-witch said. "Also brilliant for non-verbal magic, which I imagine is the only kind you've used so far?"

"Yes," Amelia gushed. "Do you think that's why it chose me?"

Before Poppy could answer, Snape cut her off.

"As enthralling as I'm sure all of this clucking would be," he sneered. "Professor Dumbledore has seen fit to have me escort you to your new living quarters, now that you're no longer in need of Poppy's hospitality."

"I'll have my own room?"

"Your own _quarters_ ," he corrected. "Now, if you'd like to follow me, I have better things to do than stand around here all day listening to you two – what do the Muggles say? – _chewing the fat_."

Madame Pomfrey placed her hands on her hips.

"Oh really, Severus-"

"No, it's ok Poppy. I'd like to get settled and look through some of these books," Amelia interrupted her gently. "Plus, I need to find this little fellow a name."

She smiled fondly down at her owl.

"Of course dear, of course," Poppy agreed, and then paused to look at the cage. "He's rather… Diminutive, isn't he?"

Amelia bristled.

"I think he's perfect," she said for the second time that day.

As if in agreement, the little owl hooted, and she could have sworn that Snape gave her a strange look before turning on his heel, and striding away.

"I guess that's my cue!" She laughed, breaking into a jog. "See you later, Poppy!"

A few minutes later, having followed, with some difficulty, Snape's sweeping gait along a labyrinth of twisting passageways, they emerged into a corridor at the top of the school. A portrait of a regal looking centaur blocked the way, and it was here that the professor finally stopped.

"This is the entrance to your chambers," he said. "You will be able to change the password weekly, and I suggest that you do so, but for now, it is _Valerian Root_."

At his words, the portrait swung open on its hinges, and Amelia climbed excitedly through.

Inside, she found a small living room, with two comfortable armchairs sitting in front of a roaring fire. The walls were hung with a portrait of a unicorn and one of a sleeping creature she didn't recognise, but the best thing of all, was that they were lined, floor to ceiling, with books.

"Brilliant," she breathed, and immediately deposited the cage and her bags onto the floor, so she could rush to the first bookcase and begin pouring over the titles.

 _Hogwarts: A History_

 _The Early Goblin Wars 200 BC – 556 BC_

 _Even More Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

She could stay in here for weeks and never read everything! She'd just picked up a particularly dusty tome that bore a half-scuffed out title, when the sound of someone clearing their throat made her turn guiltily around, and give a sheepish smile to the man standing behind her.

"Sorry," she grinned. "I got a bit carried away.

"Evidently," he agreed. "You'll find your bedroom is just up the stairs to your right. Should you need anything, you can summon a house elf by name, and they will endeavour to assist you."

"A what?" She asked.

The professor sighed.

"Dobby!" He called.

A large _crack_ sounded, and Amelia leapt back as a beaming little creature wearing an obscenely patterned tea-cosy, and what looked to be a woman's sari, materialised in the middle of the room.

"Professor Snape is calling Dobby, sir?" The creature squeaked.

"This is Miss Bristol, Dobby," Snape replied. "She is new to Hogwarts, and will no doubt have need of your services over the coming months. I assume you will be able to assist her?"

"Oh yes, Professor Snape, Dobby will certainly be helping Miss Bristol! It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a, a…" The little elf dropped his voice. "An Undiscovered."

Amelia smiled, even as her mind raced to catch up with the fact that an elf she hadn't known existed, had suddenly appeared and started to speak to her as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dobby," she said. "Please, call me Amelia."

Much to her shock, Dobby's large eyes filled with tears, and he at once let out a wail and flung his arms around her waist.

"Amelia says Dobby is to call her by her first name!" He screamed with joy. "Dobby does not deserve such kindness!"

A look of consternation crossed her face, and she looked to Snape for help, but found only disguised amusement in return.

"Of course you do, Dobby," she said, awkwardly patting the top of his tea cosy. "That's what friends do, isn't it?"

At this, Dobby dissolved into hiccupping sobs on the floor.

"Friends!" He wailed. "You is calling Dobby a friend! Not since the great Harry Potter has anyone treated Dobby so much like an equal, Miss Amelia!"

At the mention of Harry's name, Snape's amusement evaporated, to be replaced by a look of sheer contempt.

"That's quite enough, Dobby," he snapped. "Suffice to say for now, that you will endeavour to assist Miss Bristol whenever she should call. But until that time, I believe you will be needed in the kitchens."

Dobby scrambled to his feet at once, blowing his nose on the sari as he did so.

"Oh yes, Professor Snape, Dobby is always needed!" He agreed, nodding his head in a way that made his ears flap over the top of his tea cosy, and causing Amelia to giggle. "Goodbye Professor Snape! Goodbye Miss Amelia – and remember, you is to call on Dobby anytime!"

And with another loud _pop_ , the place where the elf had stood was empty, and the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, and the rustling of her nameless owl.

Amelia let out a long breath.

"So, that was a house elf," she said. "I doubt I'll ever get used to this place."

She smiled ruefully at the Professor, but he cast her only a single discomfited glance before bringing his hands behind his back, and fixing her with a piercing glare.

"If that is all, Miss Bristol, I do have more important matters to attend to. Breakfast in the Great Hall is at 8am. If you require anything this evening you need only ask Dobby, and tomorrow is yours to do with as you see fit, until such time as the students arrive and the Sorting Ceremony begins."

"The Sorting Ceremony?"

Snape heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Merlin's beard. Did the Headmaster see fit to leave you entirely in the dark?"

"It would certainly seem that way."

He huffed in irritation through his nose.

"There are four school houses at Hogwarts," he explained grudgingly. "They are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Each new student is sorted into their house upon arrival at this school. As our first _mature_ student, I do not believe you will be exempt from this practice. When the new students arrive, you too will be sorted into your house. It may beholden you to learn about their primary characteristics before such a time. You will find the necessary details in _Hogwarts: A History,_ I believe. Now, if that is everything…"

He made as if to sweep out of the room, but Amelia moved forward quickly.

"Which house are you in, Professor?"

He fixed her with a steady look.

"I am a Slytherin."

"And… Is being a Slytherin a good thing?"

An unpleasant smirk curled the corners of his lips.

"Perhaps, Miss Bristol, you should decide that for yourself."

With a final scowl and flurry of his cloak, he strode from the room without a backwards glance, and Amelia shook her head and turned to pick up _Hogwarts: A History._

"Guess it's just you and me, then," she said to her owl.

/…/

Despite Snape's cold reception, after having more food that she could comfortably manage pressed upon her by Dobby, and spending an incredibly interesting evening reading through the history of the school, Amelia found she was really rather enjoying herself. She'd learnt an awful lot about the houses – none too many good things about Slytherin, she thought – and finally chosen a name for her new companion.

"How do you feel about Solomon?" She asked.

A sleepy hoot greeted her, and she took that as an agreement.

With all of the reading she could manage finished for the night, she made her way up to her bedroom, where a large four-poster bed awaited her. Grateful that she was no longer on display in the Hospital Wing, she stripped down to her underwear, and climbed under the covers. A frisson of fear passed through her as she turned out the light, but she calmly and methodically emptied her mind, as she had done since she was a child, before slipping into an exhausted sleep.

/…/

The next day, despite fearing she would be at a loose end, she was surprised to find there was more than enough for her to do. Her nightly practice of uneasy meditation had so far kept any nightmares she'd been worried about at bay, and so, after waking up well-rested, she made her way – with Dobby's help - to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore greeted her with smiles, and although Professor Snape was more taciturn, she was quickly introduced to the rest of the professors around the table, all of whom seemed eager to meet the newest mystery. As she selected a particularly fluffy looking croissant from a pile in the middle of the table, the Headmaster paused in the act of slathering entirely too much honey onto a piece of bread.

"Severus here tells me your wand core is a Thunderbird feather, Miss Bristol," he said lightly.

Professor McGonagall turned to look at her sharply.

"Is it really?

Amelia ducked her head a little, blushing slightly.

"Well, that is truly remarkable!" The Head of Gryffindor's eye lit up. "An incredible core for transfiguration, if I might say so, Miss Bristol. I believe we can expect great things in my subject from you."

Amelia smiled noncommittally, and to her great relief, Professor Umbridge chose that moment to enter the room, announced by her ridiculous cough. All eyes turned to the new arrival, who pulled up a chair alongside Professor Flitwick, and proceeded to pile sugar into her tea.

"Good morning, Dolores," Professor Dumbledore supplied.

"Headmaster," she smiled sweetly.

"I trust you're all ready for the new term?"

"Oh yes," she simpered. "I'm certainly ready to get to work."

The atmosphere at the table suddenly became quiet and uncomfortable, as the Professors exchanged uneasy glances, and Amelia studiously avoided the curious looks of the woman in pink. She was grateful when the dishes were cleared, and she could make her escape to see Hagrid in his hut.

/…/

While Amelia spent the day wandering the grounds with Hagrid and practising a few simple spells with her new wand, Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick were discussing the problem of Dolores Umbridge with Professor Dumbledore. Despite hours of arguing back-and-forth – Flitwick thought she should be given the benefit of the doubt, whereas Snape and McGonagall were of the opinion that she should be thrown out and a new teacher found as soon as possible – they were no closer to an agreement by the time the Hogwarts Express arrived, and the students descended.

As a result, when Snape swept into the Great Hall that evening and took his usual place at the Head Table, his head was pounding and his temper was foul. Out of habit, his eyes scanned the hall until they landed on the Potter brat and his friends, and he was heartened to see that the boy looked less sure of himself than he had in previous years.

 _Maybe reality is finally starting to get to the dunderhead,_ he thought to himself with a smirk.

As the students continued to file in, the chair next to his at the end of the table was pulled out, and Amelia slid quietly into it. He gave her his usual derisive scowl, but she simply smiled back nervously and began to twist the sleeves of her new robes between her fingers.

"Is there a reason you're endeavouring to shred your uniform, Miss Bristol?" He enquired scathingly, and was gratified when she blushed and dropped her hands.

"Just nervous, I suppose," she said. "It's strange being so much older than all of them. I wasn't expecting to go back to school at my age."

She smiled at him again, and to his surprise, he found himself nodding and fixing her with what he hoped was a look of understanding. She beamed back in response, and he couldn't suppress a momentary smile in return before Dumbledore stepped up to the podium, and silence fell in the hall.

 _What are you doing?_ His inner monologue shrieked at him, as he turned his face towards the Headmaster. _You are the bat of the dungeons! You do not offer comfort to students, no matter how old they are!_

But as the first of the new arrivals stepped up to the Sorting Hat and the ceremony began in earnest, he couldn't deny that he was acutely aware of the witch sitting at his side, twisting her fingers through her robes and smiling and clapping along with the students in delight.

 _Would it be so bad if she were in Slytherin?_ He found himself wondering. Certainly, she was a Muggleborn, but she was also clever, and disarmingly frank in conversation, having been wholly unafraid to challenge him when she'd found him asleep at her bedside. Not to mention, any witch that could tame a Thunderbird core was one of immense power, and the question of her having remained hidden for so long was a mystery he would certainly be involved in solving. It would be beneficial in that sense to have her in his house.

 _And if she were in Slytherin you'd have an excuse to talk with her more,_ a traitorous voice in his head whispered slyly. He snorted softly at his own suggestion – a sound that was thankfully covered by the applause in the hall after _Grey, Benjamin_ was sorted into Slytherin. He shifted in his chair slightly as he observed the small boy taking his seat, and continued his train of thought. His interest in the witch was purely academic, he decided, but having her in his house would prevent any rumours to the contrary, and if she happened to not be a total dunderhead in conversation, as it seemed so far, then that was simply a bonus. Surely, no-one could blame him for enjoying a rare bout of intelligent discussion?

 _Yes_ , he agreed with himself, _it would certainly be beneficial to have her in Slytherin._

A lull in the applause brought him back to the present, in time to hear _Zabini, Terence,_ being sorted into Ravenclaw. Dumbledore held his hands up again, and the students turned to face him expectantly.

"Congratulations, first years, on your new student homes!" He beamed down at them. "I'm sure you are all looking forward to the start of our excellent feast, and your first night in the castle, however, I must beg but one more moment of your time before then."

He paused to survey his charges, many of whom were appraising him with frank curiosity, and Severus thought, not for the first time, that the Headmaster should have pursued a career on the stage.

"Some of you will be aware of the recent rumours of an Undiscovered witch having been found over the summer," he continued, and a number of heads turned in Amelia's direction. Severus felt her tense at his side, and peered subtly at her through his hair to gauge her reaction. "Well, I am delighted to say, that the rumours are true!"

Whispers sounded around the hall, but although Amelia's cheeks pinked slightly, she lifted her chin and looked straight back at whoever caught her eye.

"This is Miss Amelia Bristol," Dumbledore continued. "And she will also be sorted into her house today. I hope whichever house she is placed in will do their best to make her feel welcome. As I'm sure you can appreciate, this is all very new to her, and I'm certain she would be grateful for your help."

The Headmaster turned to face her, his blue eyes twinkling. "Miss Bristol, if you are ready?"

Snape heard her draw a subtle breath in, and then he watched with more than his usual level of anticipation, as she crossed the stage in front of him, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

/…/

As Dumbledore held out his arm for her to stand, Amelia felt her insides shrivel and clench, as all eyes in the Great Hall turned towards her. Fighting down the blush in her cheeks, she took her seat on the stool, and the hat was slipped onto her head.

"Ah," said a little voice in her ear. "You are a latecomer to our world, child."

 _I am_. She agreed silently. _Why?_

"That I cannot tell you, but I believe your magic has been in flux for a while."

She caught her breath.

 _And now?_

"It has settled."

Relief swept through her, and she waited. The hat was silent.

 _Hello?_

She gripped the top of the stool nervously, aware that minutes were elapsing and the eyes of the school were on her.

 _Mr Hat?_

A chuckle reverberated around her head.

"I am considering."

She gulped.

 _What are you considering?_

"You are a latecomer," the hat said again. "Your personality is not so clear-cut. Many things have happened in your life. It is difficult to know where to place you."

 _Are you deciding between two houses in particular?_

"No, child. I am deciding between three."

A cold sweat broke out over her skin. She'd read about the hat being torn between two houses before, but never three.

 _Which are they?_

"Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin."

Blood roared in her ears.

 _I'd rather not be in Slytherin._

"Indeed?" The hat mused. "But you have fond feelings for one of that house."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

 _I do?_

"Yes. A professor. Dark in countenance but complicated within. It is clear you find him… Interesting."

She couldn't help it – she blushed furiously.

 _That's not a good enough reason to put me in Slytherin._

Another chuckle echoed through her skull.

"No. Perhaps not."

Another moment of silence passed, and she dropped her eyes to the ground. Her heart felt as though it were lodged in her throat, and as hundreds of eyes roved over her she pleaded silently for it to be over.

 _Please. Please. Anything. Wherever you think I'll be most use._

"Oh yes? Useful to whom?" The hat asked.

 _To whoever needs me._

"Indeed," it mused. "In that case, strange one, it better be… GRYFFINDOR!"

As it shouted the last word into the air, Amelia heard, as if at a distance, the hall erupt into cheers. She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and made her way in a daze to the Gryffindor table, where a teenage girl with bushy hair leant over and shook her warmly by the hand.

"It's lovely to meet you, Amelia. I'm Hermione Granger. I can't wait to hear about how you got here!"

Amelia smiled weakly, as a boy with ginger hair elbowed Hermione in the ribs and told her to 'lay off, 'Mione!' and a boy with round glasses and messy black hair shook his head wryly and caught her eye.

"Don't mind her," he said. And then more quietly: "I know what it's like to be stared at like that. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," she beamed. "I appreciate that…?"

"Oh, my name's Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

/…/

So, there's chapter 5! What do you think? Let me know how I'm doing!


	6. Castle Politics

Sorry this Chapter has been a long time coming – I've been ill and my brain hasn't been working well. I hope you enjoy this next instalment! Some of you have been worried that Amelia is a bit too perfect. All I can say to that is: 'wait and see…'!

/…/

 **Chapter 6 – Castle Politics**

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, and before long Amelia found herself beset on all sides by questions, as Percy Weasley hurried them through the castle towards the Common Room.

"How old are you?"

"How did you get here?"

"Did you really not know you were a witch?"

"Where are you staying?"  
"Who found you?"

And so on and so on, until she was beginning to feel as though she were an animal being gawked at in a zoo.

As the Fat Lady's portrait opened to reveal the Common Room, she scrambled uneasily through with the rest of the house, and was grateful when Hermione took up her position at her side, and all attention turned to Seamus who seemed to be arguing with Harry. She watched as the shorter boy's face flushed in anger and he shouted at Seamus to "read the Prophet, like your stupid mother!", before Ron stepped into the fray and the two boys stormed upstairs to their dormitory.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but as soon as they'd left, silence descended over the room and Seamus turned to look at them all beseechingly.

"You heard him! He's a nutter!" He exclaimed, before throwing himself down on one of the armchairs, and scowling into the fire.

Hermione cleared her throat at her side.

"What was all that about?" Amelia asked.  
"It's a long story," the bushy-haired girl replied.

Amelia considered her for a moment.

"Hagrid told me about…" she paused, wondering how much to reveal. "About the graveyard last year."

Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"And?"

She dropped her voice.

"And I was attacked by Death Eaters in a Muggle pub only a little while ago," she confided in a whisper. "That's when my magic manifested. I don't think Harry is a liar."

The young girl looked pale, but nodded as her brow furrowed. Just as she opened her mouth to ask another question, however, a camera flash lit up the room and both of them blinked in surprise.

"Colin!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "You can't just sneak up on people like that!"

The boy's face fell, and Amelia saw that he was clutching a ridiculously large camera sheepishly in his hands.

"Sorry, 'Mione, you know I can't really help it!" He cast an apologetic smile at them both, and then scuttled off to join another group of younger students sitting on the stairs.

"Don't mind Colin," Hermione said, shaking her head. "He really can't."

/…/

Two hours later, Amelia bid the Common Room goodnight, and emerged into the darkened corridor to begin her walk to her quarters. The castle was dark and silent, and ordinarily she'd have called Dobby to help her find her way back, but her head was loud with competing information and a jumble of new faces and voices, and she needed time to decompress.

Harry and Ron hadn't returned downstairs again, and the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower was tense, to say the least. It seemed clear that most people doubted the Boy Who Lived's story, and although Ron, Hermione, and Ginny seemed to be on his side, it didn't appear as though he had many other allies. The two girls had taken Amelia under their wing, though, and during an evening filled with loud chatter from elsewhere, the three of them sat in a quiet corner, and they'd shared with her what they knew.

When she'd told them her own story, the two girls remained silent and pensive, and Amelia was struck by the fact that two young teenagers could appear so old. Clearly, they'd been involved in things much more dangerous than their young years would suggest, and they asked only minimal questions of her for the most part. That was, until she mentioned that Snape had been the one to rescue her. Both had looked at each other in ill-disguised alarm, and after much prodding and cajoling, Ginny had finally let slip that Snape wasn't to be trusted, and that the Order only tolerated the man because Dumbledore had vouched for him.

The way they described his behaviour over the years, it was clear there was no love lost on either side of this divide, and although Hermione claimed she trusted Dumbledore, it was clear that even she didn't condone Snape's exalted position in the man's trust. Now, as Amelia made her way through a sleeping castle, she reviewed what she'd seen of him so far.

He had been part of the group that had destroyed the pub, she knew, but he had also saved her, and brought her here. It was clear that he was a bitter man, and one not likely to make friends, but without his potions she'd no doubt that she would still be blistered and raw with pain. And then there was his appearance at her bedside to consider, as well. She smiled to herself in remembrance.

In sleep, the frown lines across his forehead had disappeared, and the hair that fell in front of his face rippled with the steady rhythm of his breathing. It was difficult for her to reconcile the image of a man prone to cruelty and unfairness towards the children in his care, with the one who had scooped her out of the flames and collapsed, exhausted, at her sickbed.

She was just deciding that she would have to make up her own mind about the Death Eater-turned-spy-turned-teacher-turned-enigma, when a familiar, silky voice echoed down the corridor towards her.

"Miss Bristol," the voice rang out. "May I ask what you are doing wandering the corridors at this hour?"

She turned, just in time to see Professor Snape striding towards her, with his face set into a murderous scowl.

"Good evening, Professor," she said, unperturbed. "I was just on my way from the Common Room to my quarters. If you'll remember, Professor Dumbledore did give me an exemption from the usual curfew."

"Oh did he, indeed?" The Potions Master sneered, crossing his arms in front of himself as he reached her. "And you thought you'd flout your special treatment on the very first night of term?"

She frowned at him.

"I wasn't _flouting_ anything, sir," she replied. "Merely moving from one place to another."

He bent down towards her, his face inches from hers.

"Dumbledore may have accorded you special treatment, Miss Bristol," he hissed. "But I am not so easily appeased."

She took half a step backwards, shaken by the venom in his voice.

"Sir?"

He smirked, and drew himself up to his full, imposing height.

"You Gryffindors, you're all the same. Forever taking liberties and bending the rules to suit your own needs. Well, I can tell you now, I will not stand for it. You will go to your quarters immediately, and I will not tolerate you making a habit of these night-time wanderings, no matter how frequently some of your housemates see fit to do so. Do I make myself clear?"

A bubble of anger rose in her chest, and she folded her arms, unconsciously mirroring him as her eyes flashed fire.

"With all due respect, _sir_ ," she said, fixing him with an angry glare. "I am not a frightened 11-year-old, and you cannot bully me into assent. I am 26-years-old. Until you and your vicious _friends_ attacked me, I had a life. A job. My own home with my own friends and my own hard-won freedoms. I will not be treated like a child, and I will certainly not be talked down to as though I've never had to stand on my own two feet. I am an adult and you _will_ treat me as one, whether you want to or not, and regardless of any ridiculous house politics you might insist on playing. Now, if you don't mind, I was rather enjoying my stroll home until you came along, so, if that's everything?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel, and stormed around the corner, ignoring the look of pure outrage on his face as she left.

/…/

Once safely back in her quarters, Amelia finally allowed the overwhelming nausea that had roiled in her stomach to bubble over, and she retched helplessly onto the floor. Raising a shaking hand to her head, she sank down into one of her own armchairs, and fought to control her emotions. When she could breathe a little easier, she sat back and cursed herself for allowing him to get under her skin.

"Dobby," she called weakly, and the house-elf appeared with a _pop_.

"Yes, Miss Amelia, how can Dobby be helping you?"

She smiled apologetically at him.

"I'm afraid I made a bit of a mess," she said, gesturing towards the pool of vomit on the floor.

"Oh no! Miss Amelia, you is not well?" The little elf hopped up to her side, his eyes wide and concerned.

"No, I'm quite ok, Dobby," she reassured him. "Too much to eat at the feast, I think."

Dobby nodded sagely, and vanished the mess with a click of his fingers.

"Dobby understands, Miss Amelia," he squeaked. "Dobby once ate a whole bar of Honeyduke's chocolate, and, well, Dobby was not expecting it."

If a house elf could be said to blush, that's exactly what Dobby did, and Amelia couldn't help but laugh.

"I can see how that would happen," she smiled.

After reassuring the little elf that she didn't need anything further, he disappeared again, and Amelia made her way slowly towards her bed. She'd barely got undressed before she crawled under the covers, and fell into a deep and fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares.

 _She was in the pub, and the bartender dropped dead at her feet._

 _Flames licked at her legs and no matter how quickly she ran, a wall of fire always found her._

 _Dark eyes stared out of a leering mask, and high, cold laughter filled the air._

 _Everything was black, and she was bound to a wall. A manic voice told her to control her emotions, or she would die._

 _Magic burst out of her, and she vomited._

 _Professor Snape sneered in her face, and her fingertips set alight._

 _She was screaming._

 _She was screaming._

 _She was screaming._

She sat up in bed, and she was still screaming. She forced a fist into her mouth to dampen down her panic, and squeezed her eyes against the daylight streaming into her bedroom. Her skin was slick with sweat, and the shades of her dream came back to her again. As she fought to control her breathing, she forced the nightmares away from herself, locking them back behind the mental barriers she usually employed to control her emotions. As she got up and walked towards the shower, a little voice echoed in her head.

 _Control your emotions, or you will die._

By the time she stepped out of the shower, she'd forgotten all about her dreams, and it was with a smile that she made her way towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

/…/

I hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you can – it's always nice to hear what you think


	7. Power and Precision

Chapter 7 – Power and Precision

As Amelia stormed away from him, Severus Snape felt his shock solidify into anger. How dare she speak to him like that! He was perfectly within his rights to chastise a student for wandering the corridors at night, and just because he refused to treat her any differently – _now she's a Gryffindor_ , _anyway,_ a sly part of him taunted – she had no right to berate him as though _he_ were the one in need of a dressing down!

Finally shaking himself out of his surprise, he stormed through the castle after her, emerging outside of her portrait with anger burning hot in his chest.

" _Valerian root_!" He spat at the centaur, his eyebrows drawn into a thunderous line.

"Be gone, interloper!" The centaur replied.

"I beg your pardon?" He growled, his jaw clenching dangerously.

"That password has been changed," the portrait replied.

"It's _what_?!" He exploded. "Why that insolent little-"

"Be gone!" The centaur demanded again, and he whirled in a flurry of black robes and strode back across the school, cursing under his breath.

By the time he'd made it back down to the dungeons, he'd pulled three different student couples out of their hiding places, taken over fifty school points (despite protests that the houses would be in negative figures at the start of the year) and handed out two weeks' worth of detentions. Feeling marginally better, he swept into his quarters and poured himself a generous measure of Firewhiskey.

Now, safely alone, he was free to admit to himself that Amelia's words had struck a nerve. _Before you and your vicious friends attacked me_. Was that really how she saw him? As nothing more than a Death Eater? Groaning, he sank down into an armchair, his hand clenched tightly around his glass. He supposed, really, he hadn't given much thought to how her life had changed since that night. Now that he did, a ball of shame seemed to clench tightly in his stomach.

He hadn't even considered what the girl – _woman_ – had given up to be here. Of course, now that he thought about it, it was obvious she would have had a job, and as she'd so eloquently put it, a life before the Death Eaters had slaughtered the Muggles in the pub. He stared into the fire and took a large mouthful of whiskey. She would, of course, have friends. Did she miss them? Did they miss her? Had anyone thought about explaining away her sudden absence? Were people looking for her?

As he drained the last of his glass, he made a mental note to talk to Dumbledore about it in the morning, and as he climbed wearily into bed, he told himself that he was not in the slightest bit nervous about facing the witch the next day. He had nothing to be sorry for. At least, he didn't think he did.

/…/

After her night of forgotten nightmares, it was a tired Amelia who entered into the Great Hall the next morning, and made her way self-consciously to the Gryffindor table. Hermione and Ginny had saved her a seat, but she noticed that most of the table were sitting far away from Harry and his friends. As she sat between the two girls, Harry looked up at her dully. It was clear he hadn't slept.

"You don't have to sit with us if you don't want," he said listlessly. "You don't want to be seen associating with a nutter."

Amelia took a leisurely sip of pumpkin juice and observed him over the goblet.

"I could say the same to you, you know," she answered. "As the Undiscovered, I reckon I'm about as nuts as you are."

Harry grinned at that, and the atmosphere relaxed. As she took another sip of pumpkin juice, though, she screwed up her face and mimed choking.

"Jesus, what even _is_ this stuff?" She spluttered. "What the hell is wrong with orange?"

Hermione and Harry laughed loudly, and Ron and Ginny looked between them, perplexed.

"Don't you have pumpkin juice in the Muggle world?" Ron asked, confused.

"Absolutely not – it's _vile_!" Amelia replied, to another round of laughter.

At that moment, Harry's face grew dark as he looked at someone over her shoulder.

"The magical world not to your taste, then?" A haughty voice drawled.

She turned around to see a pale, blonde teenager, flanked by two larger boys.

"Not all of it, no," she answered calmly. "And you are?"

The boy smirked.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy. And this is Crabbe and Goyle."

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ron said, glaring at him.

"Oh, not very friendly!" Draco chided. "Things are changing around here – Amelia, is it? You should be careful who you choose to associate with."

Amelia observed him coolly.

"I'll bear that in mind," she said, but Draco made no indication that he was going to move.

"Is there anything else, little boy?" She asked sweetly.

Behind her, she heard Ron choke on his pumpkin juice and Ginny stifle a laugh. Draco's face flushed red, and he reached inside his robes for his wand.

"How dare you talk to me that way! You filthy little Mudblood."

The effect was instantaneous. Harry and Ron leapt to their feet, spilling a goblet over the table. Ginny and Hermione jumped out of the way of the liquid, turning disgusted faces towards Malfoy, and as they each whipped their own wands out, a cold voice cut through the air.

"Now now, Mr Malfoy," Professor Snape said, appearing seemingly out of no-where. "We mustn't make a scene now, must we?"

Malfoy pocketed his wand and turned to face his head of house.

"Sorry, Professor," he said. "Just a misunderstanding."

Snape arched an eyebrow.

"Indeed? Well, perhaps it would be best if you made your way to your first class."

It wasn't a suggestion, and, scowling, Malfoy and his cronies sloped away, leaving Ron and Harry to look at each other in disbelief. Since when had Snape ever missed an opportunity to torment them against Malfoy?

"Haven't you got anything better to do than gawk at each other?" Snape snapped at them.

"Sorry, sir," Hermione interjected, before Harry could lose his temper. "We're just going to class, too."

She looked pointedly at the two boys, and they grudgingly stood and began to make their way out of the hall.

Amelia glared at Snape before standing and making as if to follow them, but was prevented when the Potions Master stepped in front of her.

"Miss Bristol," he said smoothly. "I'm here with news from Professor Dumbledore."

She raised her eyes to meet his defiantly.

"Yes?"

Snape raised his eyebrow, but didn't question her anger.

"He has seen fit to send _social media messages_ ," he sneered distastefully. "To your friends, informing them that you have taken an impromptu trip travelling, and apologising for not being in touch sooner."

That was enough to pull her up short.

"I'm sorry?" She said, bewildered.

Snape sighed heavily.

"The Headmaster needed to come up with a plausible reason you would not be seeing them for a while, and I am told that your online presence had expressed the desire to travel at some point in the near future, so that is what was decided."

"I mean, I was, but-" She broke off, shock turning to outrage on her face. "What do you mean 'my online presence'? Has someone been _snooping_ in my conversations?!"

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

"I have no idea who has been doing the snooping, Miss Bristol, but to suffice to say, at the present time, your alibi has been assured, and your friends now believe you to be happily making your way across Europe, having had a disagreement with the people at your former workplace."

"Dumbledore had no right to-"

"Yes?" Snape interrupted. "And what would you have had him do?"

Amelia's mouth worked furiously, even as she recognised the necessity in explaining her absence.

"He could have _asked_ me," she finally decided, as nausea bubbled in her stomach again.

"Then may I suggest, Miss Bristol, that you take it up with him?"

And with that, the Potions Master swept away, leaving Amelia standing in the middle of the Great Hall, her stomach clenching in knots, and her mind a jumble of worries.

/…/

If she had thought that Professor Snape was frustrating, it was nothing compared to how infuriated she was a few days into her first week. Despite one-to-one sessions with Professor Flitwick, McGonagall, and Dumbledore himself, Amelia's beautiful wand simply wouldn't respond to her properly.

When Flitwick had asked her to levitate a feather, the swish-and-flick movement had led to magic streaming out of her wand, and levitating everything in the room into the air – including the diminutive teacher himself. He'd floated out into the corridor and nearly right out of the Entrance Hall before she was able to cancel the spell; much to the delight of the Weasley twins, who could still be found re-enacting the embarrassing episode two days later.

When McGonagall had asked her to try and transfigure a toothpick into a needle, a simple flick of her wand had turned the desk into a lethal-looking hunk of steel, and when Professor Dumbledore had suggested she attempt a simple _Lumos_ in his office, the resulting light had blinded both of them for over an hour, until the Headmaster was able to figure out where his fireplace was, and Floo-call the Hospital Wing to procure a potion for flash-burns from Madame Pomfrey.

Her wand, which she had thought of as her greatest ever possession, was turning her into a menace, and no matter how many reassurances the Professors gave her, she knew they were worried. Such was the concentrated power exploding out of the instrument, they didn't dare have her meet with Umbridge yet, or practice any defensive spells at all, just in case she did real, irreversible harm to someone.

Even after spending almost all of her free time with Hermione, who was trying desperately to help her to control her magic, Amelia felt no more in control than she had been during her first lesson, and being around teenagers was beginning to take its toll. She missed her friends. She missed the quiet of her own home. She missed orange juice, and her dressing gown, and walking to a pub after work and having a sneaky cigarette with the people she'd known since university. She missed conversations with people her own age, and knowing exactly where she stood in the world. She missed not having her social life shrunk to the walls of the castle, and no matter how incredible Hogwarts was, she felt trapped.

So it was, that she found herself sitting by the lake alone yet again, attempting unsuccessfully to levitate rocks into the water, and swearing loudly when the ground shook beneath her feet and the wave of heat exploded out of her, leaving her shaken and afraid. Her frustration, as it always did, left her with a dull feeling of sickness, and the sensation of her magic straining and shaking somewhere deep in her chest made bile rise into her throat. As the clock tower struck 1 p.m., she sighed deeply to herself, pocketed her misbehaving wand, and rose to trek back towards the castle. She had her first potions lesson with Professor Snape, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

/…/

The Professor in question was, at that moment, pacing the length of his classroom. It had been nearly a full week since his incident with Miss Bristol, and aside from playing messenger for the Headmaster, he hadn't had reason to approach her since. Now, he was preparing for her first lesson, and if the reports from the other teachers were to be believed, she hadn't had much luck with anything else yet.

In his office, the Headmaster had impressed upon Severus the importance of finding out why her magic was reacting so strongly when manipulated through a wand, and for reasons known only to Dumbledore, he had asked the Potions Master to find out. Despite his protestations that he had better things to do than babysit another of the old man's pet projects, he had been over-ruled, and now here he was, nervous about starting a lesson for the first time in his life.

"Bloody meddling old fool," he growled, straightening his shelves on auto-pilot.

At that moment, a knock sounded on his door, and he felt his wards ripple. With a last glance around, he went to stand behind his desk, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Enter," he said.

The door opened, and Amelia walked into the room.

The first thing he noticed, was that she didn't smile. The second, was that there were dark rings under her eyes, and she seemed preoccupied.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said quietly, and he frowned in response, his well-rehearsed speech dying on his lips.

"Good afternoon, Miss Bristol," he said instead. "Are you ready to begin?"

She nodded and took the seat in front of the cauldron without another word. Something was definitely wrong.

Shaking himself of the bizarre impulse to enquire how her first week had been, he stepped up in front of his desk and surveyed her severely.

"Few students truly appreciate the subtle art and exact science of potion making," he began. "But for those that do, it is a powerful and delicate magical skill."

Feeling more in control again, he launched into the description of a calming draught, and flicked his wand lazily to bring up the instructions on the chalkboard.

"You have one hour, Miss Bristol," he instructed. "Do try not to disappoint me."

He smirked to himself as she glared at him on her way to fetch the ingredients.

 _Good_. He thought, as he settled down to some marking. _At least she's still in there somewhere._

/…/

Half an hour later, Amelia had relaxed into the steady rhythm of brewing, and she felt a smile beginning to tug at the corner of her lips for the first time in days. This, she could do. The precision of the chopping, the steam rising from the cauldron, the thrill when the liquid fizzed and turned the colour it was meant to, and the way the stirrer seemed to guide her hand, all conspired to fill her with an immense sense of calm.

Behind the desk, she was unaware that Severus Snape was watching her intently, his dark eyes following her hands, and his marking all but forgotten.

 _She's a natural._

The way she handled the knife was calm and precise. She manipulated the flames with a subtle wave of her hand, and her concentration was absolute. With a shock, he was reminded of the way Lily had looked when bent over a cauldron, her eyes shining just as Amelia's were now, and he mentally rebuked himself for the comparison.

As she slipped the Valerian Root into the cauldron and began to count the stirs, Snape shifted forward unconsciously in his chair. This would be the moment he'd know whether or not she was truly gifted in his chosen discipline. The book called for 7 stirs counter-clockwise, but any Potioneer worth their name would instinctually alternate the sixth stir clockwise, before changing direction again. It was difficult to describe to the unskilled, but brewing was part precision, and part instinct. Even with all the care in the world, if a witch or wizard lacked the natural instinct, they'd never master the art.

 _Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three…_

He unconsciously clenched his fist, and then, a light flicked on in Amelia's eyes, and she changed the rotation swiftly and precisely. Snape let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, and as the potion turned a delicate shade of shimmering turquoise, the witch shut off the flame, and raised a beaming smile towards him. The potion was perfect.

"Congratulations, Miss Bristol," he managed to sneer, even as, inwardly, he was thrilled. "You may be useless at Charms, a danger in Transfiguration, and a positive liability in any branch of magic requiring a wand, but it seems that where Potions are concerned, you are a natural."

The witch's answering smile was dazzling, and Severus Snape felt a rare stirring of pride. Perhaps she wasn't such a Gryffindor after all.


	8. Mysteries and Masters

I seem to have hit a stride with this now, so there will be slightly more regular updates! Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed it so far – I really love hearing your feedback. Hope you enjoy the next instalment!

/…/

Chapter 8 – Mysteries and Masters

Over the next few weeks, Amelia spent almost every free moment in the Potions Lab. She'd quickly surpassed the first and second year syllabus, and had already started on potions from the third year textbook, with the fourth not too far away. Although he'd never have admitted it, Severus Snape was beginning to be excited by her skill.

He'd never shared his lab with anyone before, but rather than being an imposition, he was finding it quietly gratifying to walk in and find the witch working diligently over some brew or another at all hours of the day or night. She had a natural flair for the art, and as they worked side-by-side on some of the more basic potions for the Hospital Wing, she asked intelligent questions, and seemed genuinely interested when he saw fit to lecture on this ingredient or that new technique.

She was so talented in his particular passion, in fact, that he found himself even more surprised that she was failing to grasp even the most rudimentary of skills in her other subjects. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were full of stories of dangerous accidents with the simplest of Charms and Transfigurations, and the Headmaster had re-doubled his efforts to get to the bottom of the mystery; which was why, on this particular Friday evening, Professor Snape was watching his student prepare Flobberworms for a fever reducer, with a nervous sense of anticipation.

He needed to find a way to broach the subject of her ongoing failures without seeming to pry. The Headmaster believed – and Snape was inclined to agree – that she'd be much more open about her frustrations if she didn't feel as though she were being cross-examined, or that someone was attempting to fix her. Of course, that didn't mean that he wasn't.

Over the weeks, he'd had to admit that he'd grown used to her presence, and even welcomed the strange Muggle exclamations of anger or success she still uttered from time to time. He was, he realised, becoming fond of the witch as a rare companion of sorts; someone he could discuss potions with without their eyes glazing over, and another adult in the school who didn't seem to take too unkindly to his short temper or sarcastic disposition. Dumbledore might have given him a mystery to uncover, but he was beginning to realise that he actually cared whether or not she wanted to work alongside him, and if he pushed her away now, he knew he'd regret it. Which was why-

"Well, go on then," she said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Say what you want to say."

He wasn't sure when they'd started communicating so casually, but he flinched and averted his eyes like a guilty child at the sudden sound of her voice.

"Miss Bristol?" He enquired, feigning ignorance.

"Don't give me that, Professor," she said, smiling and putting one hand on her hip. "You've been dying to say something all evening. What is it?"

He hesitated, his knife hovering over the Boomslang Skin he was dicing.

"I was merely wondering how you were faring in your other subjects," he answered eventually, watching as her face clouded over and she turned back to her potion.

"I'm sure you know just how I'm doing," she answered dully. "Terribly. I just can't get my wand to work."

"Indeed?"

She raised an exasperated eyebrow.

"Don't play dumb, Professor. It doesn't suit you."

Smirking a little at the back-handed compliment, he let the matter drop until she'd extinguished the flames beneath her potion, and set down her stirring rod.

"Are you done?" He asked.

"With this one, yes," she answered. "What's next?"

"A break, I think," he said firmly. "Come with me."

He led her through to his quarters, wondering idly when he'd last had someone other than Albus or Minerva sitting by his fire. He wasn't sure, now he came to think of it, that he ever had, and he was surprised by how natural it felt to invite her in.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

He turned back from his drinks cabinet to find that she'd already claimed one of his armchairs, and pulled her legs up underneath herself comfortably. Somehow, he didn't have the heart to sneer at her taking liberties.

"I'd kill for a whiskey," she grinned. "I haven't had chance to re-stock my supplies since coming here."

He hummed noncommittally and held up a bottle of old Ogden's.

"Nothing Muggle, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you'll survive."

He handed her a generous glass and sat down opposite with his own, watching with faint amusement as she wrinkled her nose distrustfully at the slight sheen of steam on top of the amber liquid.

"This looks chemical," she sniffed, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I assure you I'm not trying to poison you."

"I wouldn't put it past you," she grumbled good-naturedly, before raising the glass to her lips, and taking a tentative sip.

He watched over the rim of his own glass as her brow furrowed in consideration, and then a smile touched at the corners of her lips. She shrugged, clearly enjoying herself.

"I could get used to it."

He raised his own glass subtly in return, making a mental note that she actually was a whiskey drinker after all. First-time initiates to old Ogden's usually found themselves doubled over and coughing after the first sip, before getting used to the burn at the back of the throat. Amelia, it seemed, was well practiced.

"So," she said, surprising him by taking the initiative. "Has the Headmaster made it your job to find out what's wrong with me, then?"

A smirk curled his mouth and he looked away from her and into the flames.

"That's an interesting choice of words."

She laughed quietly.

"I'm right though, aren't I? A witch that can't use a wand isn't very much of a witch."

He paused, unwilling to drive her away, and choosing his words carefully.

"I believe many witches and wizards have got by in the past using only wandless magic. However… Power such as yours suggests there is something – how shall I put it? – _unusual_ about the way your magic is behaving when streamlined. Given that you are also the first Undiscovered witch in 488 years, it would appear there is something occurring of which we are not yet aware."

He chanced a glance towards her, and found her watching him with an amused air.

"That was a very eloquent way of saying there's something wrong with me, Professor," she smiled, and held up her hand when he sought to protest. "Regardless, I'm starting to worry about it, and if it's a choice between you or any other person in this castle, I'd still rather you were the one to help me."

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Why in Merlin's name would you want me?" He blurted out before he was able to stop himself, and immediately felt his neck grow warm with embarrassment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug amiably again.

"I trust you," she said simply.

The simple statement was so shocking, and so unexpected, that it stunned him into silence for a long moment. When he'd finally gathered himself enough to realise that she wasn't, in fact, mocking him, he turned the full force of his dark eyes on her instead, and opened his mouth to belittle how easily she'd given her trust away. At that moment, though, a lancing pain shot through his forearm, and he dropped his glass of whiskey and hissed.

Immediately, she was out of her chair and at his side, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.

"Professor? What's the matter?"

He took a moment to revel in the novelty of someone enquiring after his health, before he pushed past her roughly and strode into his bedroom.

"I'm being summoned," he bit out through gritted teeth, as the pain in his forearm solidified.

"Summoned? Summoned by who?" She asked, following him into the room as he pulled his Death Eater mask and robes out of the wardrobe.

"The Dark Lord."

When he next turned around, his robes on and the mask held under his arm, she was still standing in the doorway, her face pale and worried.

"Will you be ok?"

He laughed bitterly through the pain in his arm.

"I've been doing this for a long time," he sneered, without humour, before pushing past her again and striding from his quarters, as another wave of burning crept its way up to his shoulder.

"I don't have time to wait for you. Be sure you show yourself out," he spat, as he felt the Dark Lord's impatience growing, and found his resolve to leave weakened by the undisguised concern in her eyes.

Without giving himself a chance to feel fear, he slammed the door behind him, and made his way swiftly out of the school and towards the Apparition point. As he left the room, mentally-erecting his Occlumency barriers, he could have sworn he heard the soft words "Be careful, Severus," echoing behind him.

/…/

Following his abrupt exit, Amelia picked up his upturned whiskey glass, and set it down gently on the table by his chair. A simple wave of her hand cleared the mess from the floor, and she sat back down to finish her own drink in silence. The man kept surprising her, and if she was honest with herself, she was worried about him.

On the surface, he was a pig-headed, arrogant, sarcastic, cruel, and combative tyrant, but underneath it all, she had found somebody quite different indeed. Over the weeks working in his lab, she'd been awed by his intelligence and his gentle care with his research. His sarcastic sense of humour and his endless moaning about the "meddling old coot" had often reduced her to peals of laughter, and for all of his bravado, she saw how uncertain of praise he was, and how desperate for any act of kindness – even if he'd never admit it.

The only compliments he seemed to expect were in relation to his work, and on one memorable day when she'd dared to mention that he cut a striking figure striding through the school, he'd snapped angrily at her not to mock him, and then blushed furiously when he'd realised she was sincere. The memory brought a smile to her lips, and she'd resolved there and then to give him more reasons to smile – even if it was with ill-disguised embarrassment.

Now, sitting alone in his rooms with a glass of whiskey clutched in her hand, she wondered at the role Dumbledore expected him to fulfil. She'd seen the Death Eaters with her own eyes, and knew first-hand how vicious they were. The idea of the Potions Master, brusque as he was, risking his life amongst people like that, made her feel faintly nauseous. Outer appearances might suggest that he was stern and cruel, but she knew perfectly well that no man who showed such tender care towards his work could possibly be as cold-hearted as everyone thought. No, he might deny it until his dying day, but Severus Snape was not heartless, and she couldn't imagine that he would be unaffected by the things he was forced to do.

Finishing her drink, she summoned a sheet of parchment and a quill, and began to write. Even if she couldn't be here when he returned, she would at least make sure he wasn't completely alone.

/…/

A shorter chapter this time. What did you think?


	9. Alone

Like I said – I'm on a roll! I doubt this story will always be updated quite so quickly, but the next few chapters are already written so you can expect it to progress quite quickly for a while.

Your reviews have been so kind, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Keep them coming, if you can.

/…/

Chapter 9 – Alone

Hours after he'd first been summoned, Severus Snape apparated back to Hogwarts, and doubled over retching onto the ground. He'd been questioned for an age about his progress with the Undiscovered witch, and even though he'd been ignoring Dumbledore's pleas to get to the bottom of the mystery, he'd somehow forgotten that mere refusal wasn't going to be so lightly forgiven by his other master.

Breathing heavily, he staggered back across the moonlit grounds, his muscles shuddering with the after-effects of the Cruciatus. Thankfully, his Occlumency shields were strong, and despite the endless hours of torture, he'd managed to feed the Dark Lord images of Amelia's frustration with her wand, and her loneliness without her friends. The many weeks of brewing together, and his fondness for her company, he'd kept well-hidden, and so it was that Voldemort had let him go with a warning to uncover the mystery behind her sudden appearance, and a final few minutes of bone-breaking pain, before he released him back to the castle.

As he made his way down to his chambers, his hands trembled and tremors wracked his body. He ached to his very bones, and great licks of nerve pain shot to the tips of his fingers and left him doubled over and gasping for breath. As he reached his door and gratefully leaned against the familiar wood, he sent a Patronus to Dumbledore, telling him that he'd returned and would report to him in the morning, before letting himself in, and struggling towards his store cupboard.

Once there, he pulled out two pain-relievers, a nerve-regenerator, and a potion of his own creation, designed to counteract the tremors from repeated bouts of Crucio. Swallowing them in quick succession, he finally limped back to his armchair and sank into it weakly, groaning in pain.

The fire had gone out while he was gone, and his rooms seemed darker and gloomier than usual. He noticed that Amelia had cleared up the spilled drink, and he felt an almost painful pang of loss that she wasn't still there waiting for him. Absent-mindedly, he poured himself another whiskey from the bottle at his side, and attempted to block off his emotions.

This wasn't the first time he'd come home after hours of torture and found no-one there waiting for him, and it wouldn't be the last. So why was this time any different?

 _Because there was never anyone you wanted to be here before,_ his inner-voice suggested slyly.

He growled in response, closing his eyes against the dull ache in his chest that endlessly seemed to beg for comfort, and which he always denied.

"Pull yourself together," he sneered at himself. "You told her to go and she's gone. What did you expect?"

Sighing, he opened his eyes again, and glanced listlessly around the room. Immediately, his gaze fell on a piece of parchment, folded into a hexagon and resting on the table at his side.

Frowning slightly, he leant forward and opened it, wincing as his fingers shook with such a small amount of effort. As he read, his eyes widened in shock, and he stubbornly swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat.

 _Professor,_

 _I know you told me to leave, but I couldn't just let you come back alone. Like you, I'm a night owl, so if you're back before 2 a.m. I'll probably still be awake in my quarters. If you want some company, or a drink, or just to sit in silence with another person breathing in the room, feel free to knock on my door. And if it's after 2 a.m… Well, I guess I don't mind being woken up._

 _Be safe._

 _Amy._

He read the note through three times, distractedly tracing the letters with his fingers, and lingering over the signature at the bottom of the page. Amy. She'd mentioned once that most people called her Lia, but that her closest friends were the only ones to call her Amy. He'd stored that knowledge away for future use at the time, wondering whether he'd ever fall into either camp, and now that she'd offered him the nickname so freely, along with her company, he couldn't help but feel touched.

A quick glance at the clock above his mantle showed him it was half past one. If she'd kept her promise, she'd still be awake - maybe sitting in front of her own fire, maybe reading, maybe waiting for him to get in touch. Maybe. His chest ached with the desire to go to her – to have someone, other than his empty chambers, witness his pain and soothe him with kind words and assurances, the way his mother had once done when his father's anger had spilled over onto him. He imagined himself, for a moment, knocking on Amelia's door and being invited inside, where a fire crackled and a kind smile greeted him, and the temptation to leave his rooms and go to her tore at him cruelly.

But he knew he wouldn't. Despite his prowess with Occlumency, the more good memories he made with her the harder it would be to hide them. And there was still the question of how she had remained hidden, and why her magic seemed so unsuited to a wand. Until they'd worked out why she was different, it wouldn't be safe to get too close to her, should events spiral out of their control and he be forced to make decisions that jeopardised her safety. No. Severus Snape was a spy, and he worked alone. It was safer that way.

And so, even as a lump of loss swelled painfully in his throat, he scribbled a note in reply, lit his fire, and sent the missive through the flames to her quarters.

 _Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly well and will remain here. Do not stay awake needlessly._

 _SS_

With that done, he swallowed the last of his whiskey and dragged himself to bed, telling himself sternly that he didn't mind that he was alone, that he had always been alone, and that he would continue to be so, no matter how kind, or brilliant a Potioneer, or pleasant a companion this mysterious witch had become. No. Professor Severus Snape did not – _could_ not – need anyone else, and it was with this thought that he slipped into an uneasy sleep, and hid himself beneath his blankets.

/…/

In her own quarters, Amelia was, indeed, sitting and reading in front of her fire, with half an eye on her own clock above the mantle. When the flames burned green and spat out a scrap of parchment without warning, she leapt from her seat in shock, before snatching it from the air. With a grim smile, she read the note through three times, before slipping it between the pages of the book she was reading, and making her way to bed. The last thought she had before she fell asleep, and the nightmares she wouldn't remember took hold, was that Severus Snape was a man who was as stubborn as he was caustic, and that she was, nevertheless, glad that he was safe.

/…/

The next morning, Professor Dumbledore received his spy's report with a grim expression and ill-disguised concern, as he observed the grey face of the man sitting opposite him.

"We must find answers, my boy," he said gently. "For your sake as well as hers."

"Me?" Snape scowled. "I am perfectly fine. As you'll recall, I've suffered much worse."

"Nevertheless, the next time you meet with Voldemort, you must have something more definitive to tell him. The longer we are in the dark the more impatient he'll become, and it wouldn't do to anger him needlessly."

"Are you talking about yourself now, old man?" Snape spat, getting to his feet and beginning to pace, ignoring the protests of his bruised muscles. Dumbledore's face darkened.

"You know as well as I do that your feelings for Amelia are clouding your judgement-"

"Feelings?" Snape growled. "And what, pray tell, are my feelings for the girl?"

Dumbledore observed him kindly over his half-moon spectacles.

"She is talented, Severus, and you appreciate talent. She is also uncommonly kind, and seems to place a great deal of trust in you as her rescuer and, indeed, her mentor. None of the other staff or students have become as close to her as you have, and for you to even spend time with someone who's friends with Harry-"

"Oh please, Headmaster, spare me," Snape sneered. "Amy's friendship with that arrogant little twit you are so fond of hardly enters into it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Ah, so it's Amy, now, is it?"

Snape froze and his face paled as the Headmaster observed him calmly.

"You see, Severus, as much as you might deny it, you are fond of the girl, are you not?"

Snape's jaw clenched and he swallowed convulsively.

"I merely enjoy having someone around who enjoys my subject as much as I do, and isn't a snot-nosed brat in conversation. That's not a crime, is it?"

"Not at all! Not at all, my boy, and I wouldn't ever suggest otherwise, but in this instance you need to put aside your friendship with her, and work to help her find out why she's come to us at the time she has. Initially, I must confess, I thought it might simply be a case of her manifesting only Elemental magic, which as you know, is an old magic not always picked up by the Ministry, but the way her wand reacts suggests it may be something much more sinister."

Snape stopped pacing and turned to face the old man, his stance tense.

"What do you mean, sinister?" He asked slowly, and noted as he did so, that Dumbledore seemed unusually weary.

"I mean, dear boy, that I believe something has been blocking her magic. Something she may be unaware of, but whether she is aware or not, there must be a reason, and we need to know what it is."

Snape sat down heavily in the chair, his mind racing.

"It's almost unheard of for a witch or wizard's magic to be blocked naturally," he said hesitantly.

"Which is why we must find out why she's different," Dumbledore counselled gently.

They sat in silence for many minutes as the older wizard's words sank in. Eventually, Snape got to his feet with a scowl and fixed the Headmaster with a steely glare.

"If it is, indeed, so important, then I will of course endeavour to find out what has happened. But I'm warning you, Albus, I will not spend my every waking moment fixated on the girl. It's far more dangerous for both of us the more time we spend together, and you know that as well as I."

Dumbledore observed him sadly over his fingertips.

"If that's how you see it, my boy, then that's how it must be."

"Yes, that's how I see it, and I'd thank you to not interfere."

With a final glare, the Potions Master swept from the room, more determined than ever to discover what had happened to his new protégé, and unwilling to examine why he was now so fearful for her safety.

/…/

Poor old Severus, am I right?


	10. Enemy in Pink

I'm spoiling you now with these regular updates, I know, but it'll be a few days until the next one as this one's quite long, so I hope you enjoy it!

I'd also like to say a huge thank you to Acro, who's reviewed very regularly and made lots of interesting comments on the story – your input really does make me smile!

Are we close to finding out what's wrong with Amelia? You know, we might be…

/…/

Chapter 10 – Enemy in Pink

The morning after Snape's summons, Amelia was having a trying day of her own. Unbeknownst to her, she'd been plagued by nightmares again, and for reasons she didn't fully understand, her nightly practice of meditation seemed far less relaxing at the school than it had been for most of her life. Breakfast in the Great Hall had been a subdued affair, with the Gryffindors angered by Umbridge's treatment of them in class, and the officious witch's refusal to allow them to perform magic.

As a way of fighting back, Hermione had persuaded Harry to hold a Defence Meeting in Hogsmeade the following weekend, but the boy seemed more withdrawn than ever, and had left the table to go walking before anyone else had so much as finished their breakfast. Hermione and Ron had gone out to look for him, while Ginny snuck off to spend a couple of hours with Dean, her new boyfriend, which left Amelia to wander the castle alone, musing over whether she'd ever truly fit in.

As Snape was making his way to his laboratory following his conversation with Dumbledore, Amelia set out across the grounds to visit Hagrid, but when she got there, she found the half-giant's hut empty. Feeling disquieted, although she couldn't place her finger on why, she walked around the length of the building, peering into the windows and finding it eerily deserted.

Just as she was turning to leave, and making a mental note to ask Snape where Hagrid had disappeared to, a girlish cough rang out behind her. She tensed immediately. Despite being at the castle for a few weeks, she hadn't had many reasons to be around the saccharine DADA teacher, and she couldn't shake the feeling that after finding nothing wrong with her that day in the Hospital Wing, Dolores Umbridge didn't like her much at all.

Nevertheless, she smiled as she turned around, and managed to bite back a laugh at the ridiculous pink outfit the woman was wearing.

"Good morning, Professor," she said mildly.

"Is it?"

"Sorry?"

The little witch stepped forward, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"It seemed, my dear, that you were looking for the half-breed."

Amelia bristled.

"I was looking for Hagrid, yes," she said warily. "And you?"

A high-pitched chuckle answered her question.

"Yes, I was looking for him. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you dear?"

Amelia felt her anger rise and nausea swell in her stomach, but she kept her face impassive.

"No, Professor, I have no idea where Hagrid is. Perhaps you should ask the Headmaster?"

Umbridge smiled unpleasantly, and paused for a moment before changing tact.

"I hear you've been having some trouble with your wand?"

She shifted uncomfortably.

"A little."

The woman stepped up closer to her, her breath hot on her face.

"Not much of a witch without a wand, are you?" She hissed.

Amelia felt her magic react instinctively to the threat, and a wave of heat pushed out from her, propelling Umbridge backwards on her feet.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Professor," she answered defiantly.

The toady face contorted in anger, and her wand appeared in her hand.

"You dare threaten me, Muggleborn?" She challenged.

"I'm not threatening anyone," she said, stepping forward, and feeling the magic in her chest crackle and strain. "Perhaps you should leave, though, before you come to harm."

It wasn't an idle threat. The power inside her was straining against its bindings; she could feel it sparking in her fingertips and crackling through her hair.

"You would do well to respect your betters," Umbridge warned, and suddenly, her wand sliced through the air, and Amelia felt pain explode across her face.

She raised a hand and found no blood to prove the attack had taken place, but her magic was out of control, and it leapt from her fingers and propelled the Professor through the air, where she landed on her back with a shriek, and began to scramble away.

"You, you, you _freak_!" She spluttered. "The Minister will hear about this, you mark my words!"

But as she hurried away back to the castle, Amelia could only double over and clutch her stomach in agony. The magic in her chest was burning a hole right through her – she could feel it bending and twisting, scorching her insides as her anger redoubled itself.

She gasped and retched violently, ridding herself of her meagre breakfast and moaning into the cold autumn air. Her head felt as though it were splitting down the middle, and voices she couldn't make sense of echoed in her head.

 _Control your emotions. You don't want the pain again, do you?  
_ "No, no, no," she heard herself gasping, as tears streamed down her face.

 _Magic is pain. Anger is pain. Fear is pain._

She whimpered on the ground, writhing against the burning that was spreading to every inch of her body. As a final wave of heat fled from her, scorching a circle around where she lay, her last conscious thought was of Severus, and whether he'd be able to rescue her this time. Then the world went black, and she thought no more.

/…/

In the Great Hall at lunchtime, Hermione looked around the room expectantly. They hadn't seen Amelia all morning, and she knew how worried the witch still was about her magic.

"Don't you think it's strange she isn't here?" She asked Ron, who was busy stuffing sandwiches into his mouth. He shrugged and grunted in response.

"Oh for goodness sake, Ronald! Don't you ever think about anything other than food?"

He looked up at her, stricken.

"What? I'm hungry!"

Hermione shook her head in exasperation, but for once kept her own counsel. She knew it was hard for Amelia to be around teenagers all the time, and she could sympathise. She often felt far more mature than her peers, and she hardly dared imagine what it would be like to actually be so much older, and to be thrown into a school with children. Perhaps the new witch was just giving herself a break. She could allow her that much, after all.

/…/

In the dungeons, Snape glanced again at the clock on his wall. It was nearly 4p.m., and Amelia hadn't been down to see him. After he'd left Dumbledore's office, he'd assumed he would have a couple of hours of uninterrupted brewing, before she would arrive to join him at lunchtime as she often did on a Saturday.

He hated to admit it, but he missed the witch's presence at his side. He was still beaten and bruised from the previous night's summons, and it had become comforting to hear the sounds of another person in the room while he worked; her quiet murmurs and excited exclamations when she discovered something new that made her smile.

"She's obviously got better things to do today, what did you expect?" He rebuked himself impatiently. But after another hour's worth of work, he found he couldn't concentrate anymore, and left his quarters to make his way to the Great Hall early, thinking as he did so, that he might run into her on the way.

/…/

By the time dinner arrived and Amelia still hadn't been seen by anyone all day, Hermione wasn't the only one who was worried. Harry had joined them during the afternoon, along with Luna Lovegood, and the strange girl had said, in her own dreamy way, that the magic around the castle was angry today. Hermione, ever the pragmatist, didn't put too much stock in Luna's bizarre proclamations, but even she had felt ill at ease for reasons she couldn't quite place, and she had a strange feeling that something awful had happened to her friend.

"It's not right, Harry," she hissed across the table. "We have to go and look for her."

Harry hadn't been himself since that night in the graveyard, but having a definable problem to solve seemed to lend him the spark he'd been missing, and he leant over the table towards her conspiratorially.

"If she doesn't come to the Common Room later, we'll get my dad's old cloak out and visit her rooms to find out."

Temporarily comforted, Hermione nodded and turned her gaze back to her food, chewing thoughtfully.

/…/

At the Head Table, the teachers, too, had noted Amelia's absence. Snape had hardly touched the food on his plate, so transfixed on the doors at the other end of the hall had he been. Dumbledore caught his eye and raised his eyebrows questioningly, his eyes twinkling, but the Potions Master simply scowled and went back to observing the room.

Potter and his friends were clearly up to something, but for once, that was no concern of his. The only thing he was concerned about, was that his witch seemed to be avoiding him. He was so concerned, in fact, that it didn't even cross his mind to berate himself for the mental slip. In that moment, she was his witch, and he was more worried than he cared to let on.

Throughout the meal, Dolores Umbridge sat with the teachers, a smug smile gracing her lips, as she observed the empty place at the table where Amelia should have been.

/…/

Later that night, Hermione paced the Common Room, waiting with growing trepidation for the last of the stragglers to go to bed. Amelia hadn't come to see them, and she was more convinced than ever that something was wrong. As the Weasley twins finally sloped off to their dormitory, Harry and Ron emerged downstairs, carrying the cloak between them.

"No sign of her?" Harry asked.

She shook her head, her brow creased.

"Something's not right," she said. "I know it."

"I think you're right," Ron agreed quickly.

"Come on, let's go before anyone else comes down."

With practiced ease, Harry swung the cloak over the three of them, and they vanished from view.

They saw no-one on their walk through the castle; even the portraits seemed to sense a disturbance, and were unusually quiet as they passed by. Moonlight spilled into the corridor from the large windows by the entrance to Amelia's quarters, and after a cursory glance to check they were alone, they removed the cloak and revealed themselves to the centaur.

"Well, well, who have we here?" The portrait asked. "You three are out past curfew."

"Yes, we're sorry Mr Centaur, sir," Hermione babbled, earning her a withering look from Ron. "But we were wondering if you'd seen Amelia today? She's missing, you see, and no-one's seen her."

"Missing, you say?"

Hermione nodded.

"Hm… Ordinarily, we portraits keep our own counsel, but then, we are also tasked with the welfare of this school. What to do…"

"So, you haven't seen her?" Hermione's voice rose to a panicked pitch. "Do you know where she was going when she left this morning?"

The centaur observed them for a moment.

"I do."  
"Can you tell us?" Harry asked urgently. "Please, we just want to make sure she's alright."

After a moment's hesitation, the portrait seemed to come to a decision.

"In this instance, I think safety is the lesser of two evils. Ordinarily, you understand, we portraits do not reveal what we know of the witches and wizards we guard, but I do concede that this disappearance is out of character for my resident. If you truly are worried, then I can tell you that she intended to visit Hagrid after breakfast."

The three of them looked at each other in alarm.

"But Hagrid's-"

"Been missing-"

"For weeks!"

Immediately, they began to run in the direction of the Entrance Hall, with Hermione calling a quick 'thank you!' over her shoulder to the bewildered guardian of Amelia's rooms.

At the double doors, Harry slipped the cloak over them once more, and they crept surreptitiously out into the darkness. The cold hit them immediately. The first layer of autumn frost had covered the ground, and their breath misted in front of them even with the protection of the cloak.

"I don't like this," Hermione whispered as they made their way down the path. "I don't like this at all."

Harry and Ron agreed silently, and they moved closer together as they crept towards the dark silhouette of Hagrid's hut.

"Amelia?" Hermione called softly as they approached. "Amelia? Are you out here?"

"Lia?" Ron echoed. And then: "Merlin, it's cold."

Harry nodded, his teeth chattering.

"Something feels strange," he said.

"Strange how?"

"I dunno, like- Oh my God!"

Suddenly, he bolted out from under the cloak, and Ron and Hermione followed his sprint towards a dark mound on the ground at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Scorch marks surrounded Amelia in a perfect circle. She was unconscious and curled into a protective ball, her face covered in livid bruises and her arms streaked as though burned.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron muttered, turning away and staggering towards the trees.

Hermione dropped to her knees beside Harry and turned Amelia over.

"Amelia? Amelia can you hear me?"

Harry's face looked green in the moonlight.

"Is she…?"

"No, she's still breathing," Hermione answered. "Quickly, take Ron and get back to the castle. Find a teacher, or a prefect – anyone – she's ice cold. I don't want to think how long she's been out here."

Harry didn't need telling twice. Grabbing a distinctly sick-looking Ron by the shoulder, he half-dragged the other boy with him, and the two of them sped towards the castle, the cold air burning in their lungs.

They sprinted into the Entrance Hall only moments later, their feet pounding loudly on the stone floor in the echoing darkness.

"Where do we go?" Ron panted.

"The Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey's bound to still be awake," Harry answered, barely slowing down as he took the stairs two at a time. They had almost reached the entrance, when a voice neither of them wanted to hear echoed down the corridor towards them.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Professor Snape stepped out of the shadows, smirking widely. "What could two Gryffindors, such as yourselves, be doing running through the castle at this hour? My, we are in trouble, aren't we?"

But they wouldn't be deterred – not even by Snape.

"Please, sir, you don't understand," Harry panted. "It's Amelia, she-"

Snape's expression changed in an instant.

"Amelia?" He interrupted sharply. "What-?"

"She's been hurt!" Ron blurted out.

Snape paused for only a moment, taking in the two boys swiftly, before deciding that they weren't trying to make a fool of him.

"Explain yourselves," he demanded.

"We hadn't seen her all day, and Hermione was worried, so we went to talk to her portrait," Harry started, before breaking off to draw in a great lungful of air.

"The centaur said she hadn't been there all day," Ron interjected. "But that she'd been on her way to Hagrid's after breakfast-"

"So we went out to look for her, and, and-"

Snape grabbed Harry by his arms and shook him slightly, his face inches away.

"And _what_? Spit it out, Potter!"

"And we found her by Hagrid's hut. Hermione's with her now. She's unconscious, and-"

But Snape was already running down the stairs, his cloak billowing out behind him, and a stricken expression on his face.

/…/

Outside, Hermione had taken off her cloak and wrapped it tightly around Amelia's freezing body, her eyes wide as she observed the unusual scorch marks on her skin. They looked… Well, they looked as though she'd been burnt from the _inside out_. Shuddering in the cold, Hermione looked up towards the school, and let out a yelp of surprise as the Potions Master, his robes streaming out behind him and his face far paler in the darkness, bore down upon her and dropped instantly to his knees.

"Amelia?" He said, pulling her out of Hermione's arms and placing trembling hands on either side of her face. "Amelia? _Amy_ , can you hear me?"

Hermione watched open-mouthed, as, without waiting for a response, he pulled out his wand and began to cast a series of diagnostic spells over the still body.

"Sir," she managed to gasp out at last. "She's been missing all day, and it looks like she's been burned, but-"

"Yes, yes, I can see that Miss Granger," he snapped without looking at her. "Run back to the castle at once and fetch Professor Dumbledore. Tell him what's happened and ask him to meet us in the Hospital Wing. The password to his office is _Fizzing Whizzbee_. Well? What are you waiting for? _Go_ , now!"

Without waiting to be told again, Hermione scrambled to her feet and raced back to the castle. Left alone, Snape finally succumbed to his panic, scooping Amelia into his arms and holding her close to his chest as he strode back towards the school.

"Amy? Amy?" He pleaded as he ran. "What has happened to you, you foolish witch?"

/…/

So, what do you think? Please review if you can!


	11. Revelations

A Saturday night update since I've been ill all day!

Chapter 11 – Revelations

Snape's hands shook, and he gripped them together tightly in front of him, his eyes fixed on the woman on the bed. It had been hours since he'd swept into the Hospital Wing with Amelia's ice-cold body cradled in his arms, and he'd barely kept his fear in check as he'd realised how eerily similar the scene had been, to when he'd carried her still-smoking body in from the raid over the summer.

The difference now, of course, was that he cared about her, and that this time he had no idea what to do. The moment he'd stepped into the Hospital Wing, Poppy had jumped into action and laid her out on the bed, but as she'd worked, her face had become more and more concerned, until Snape had snapped at her, none too kindly, to tell him what the problem was, and she had banished him from the room.

Dumbledore had arrived shortly after, and despite his best and most imaginatively vicious threats, he'd been made to wait outside while the Headmaster examined Amelia himself. If it hadn't been for the satisfaction he'd got in sending the three irritating Gryffindors to bed, despite their (somewhat true) arguments that they'd been the ones to find her and should get to find out what had happened, he was certain he might have done something he'd regret.

As it was, it was now the early hours of the morning, and he'd been allowed back inside to sit by her bedside, even as Dumbledore's words echoed in his ears.

"I'm sorry, my boy, but it doesn't look good. Her magic has burnt her up from the inside out, and her body's simply shut down. If we don't find out what triggered it, then it's possible she'll never wake up."

That had been an hour ago, and ever since, Snape had kept his lonely vigil, his eyes never leaving her face, and his mind in disarray.

 _It's possible she'll never wake up._

He felt as though he'd been slapped. How could it be possible that something like this could happen within the Hogwarts grounds? And was it really only last night that they'd sat together, sipping whiskey in front of his fire? If only he'd gone to her after he'd returned. Maybe she'd have mentioned her plan to go to Hagrid's, and he'd have been able to tell her the half-giant wasn't there, and that would have been the end of it. She'd never have left the castle. She'd have probably joined him in his lab, and they'd have spent the day brewing quietly together, perfectly safe.

At that last thought, he felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest, and he clamped his lips together against the ache that was growing in his throat. She'd been lying outside for most of the day, and where had he been? Locked up in his dungeons, or eating happily at the Head Table, while she grew colder and colder, alone in the dark.

He got to his feet suddenly and moved to stare out of the window. No. This couldn't be it. She'd remained Undiscovered for twenty-six years. She was possibly the most intuitive Potioneer he'd taught in all of his years at the school. And she reminded him, startlingly, painfully, of the way Lily had been with him as children. She understood his moods already. She called him out when he was cruel, and no matter how angry she'd been with him, she'd always come back, always sought him out for company. He couldn't go back to spending all of his time so desperately alone; not now he'd found a companion and – dare he even think it? – a friend. He wouldn't.

His mind made up, he swept from the room without a backwards glance at the bed, and made his way determinedly to the Headmaster's office. When he reached the gargoyle, he spat the password out through gritted teeth, made his way swiftly up the stairs, and stormed into the room without knocking. Albus looked up from his desk, where Snape was gratified to see he'd had his head in his hands. Without waiting for a greeting, he launched into his diatribe.

"Headmaster, someone in this school knows what happened to her. The bruising on her face is from a very powerful _clubbing_ spell, for Merlin's sake! Only a handful of students and staff could produce such a spell, and we both know that even fewer would do so unprovoked."

Dumbledore sighed, looking every inch his advanced age.

"And what would you have me do, Severus?"

"Call an assembly, first thing tomorrow. Stand up in front of the school and demand the culprit come forward. You said it yourself, if we don't know what triggered this she might never wake up, and…" he swallowed and drew a deep breath, his throat suddenly thick. "And… If- If that happens…"

Dumbledore held up his hand.

"I know, my boy. I know," he said quietly.

"No, you don't know!" Snape exclaimed, his voice strangled. "You have no idea! If she doesn't… If she…"

Dumbledore's sad blue eyes met the stricken black ones, and without warning, something that sounded very much like a sob broke from Snape's constricting throat, and he clamped his mouth shut and pinched the bridge of his nose hard.

"My dear boy…"Dumbledore began, tears in his own eyes.

"Don't!" He snapped. "Just… Please, Albus. You must do _something_."

The Headmaster held his gaze for a moment longer, and then sighed resignedly.

"Alright, my boy. Alright. You'll have your assembly. But you will lead it. I think, somehow, that you are the best person for the job this time."

/…/

The next morning, an announcement rang through the school, and all students and staff were present for Sunday morning breakfast. Before the plates were filled, Severus Snape stepped up to Dumbledore's podium wearing a set of fresh robes, and with his most chilling scowl firmly in place. The curious chatter died instantaneously, and all eyes turned to face him. He swept his gaze over the assembled students, noticing that the Gryffindor trio were watching him nervously, and feeling a prickling on the back of his neck that meant the staff were observing him just as closely.

Placing both hands on the podium, he lowered his voice to his most deadly, and began.

"Many of you are surely wondering why you have been summoned here this morning," he paused, allowing everyone in the room to strain to hear him. "Yesterday, at some point in the morning, Amelia Bristol was viciously attacked while walking in the Hogwarts grounds." He paused to allow the whispers to ripple through the hall for a moment.

"Until we know exactly what happened during those moments, it is unlikely that Miss Bristol will recover." At this, he was pleased to hear a far louder babble break out across the room, and at the Gryffindor table in particular.

"I invite anyone who may have seen anything, to present themselves to the Headmaster at their earliest convenience. Were you out on the grounds yesterday morning? Did you, perhaps, see anyone other than Miss Bristol walking near Hagrid's Hut? Or perhaps…" He dropped his voice even lower. "Perhaps you know just who is responsible for this despicable crime?"

He swept his eyes over the room once more, and then turned to face the staff.

"This request does, of course, extend to my _esteemed colleagues_ , as well," he sneered unpleasantly, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second longer on the pink-trussed toad, who was still smiling vacuously at the end of the table.

"It goes without saying," he concluded softly. "That if I find out that someone has knowledge of these events and has not come forward, they may be assured that retribution, the likes of which this school has never seen, will follow swiftly, and without mercy. From this moment forward, you may consider Miss Bristol to be under my _personal_ protection, and if any of you feel you have been treated unfairly before now, let me impress upon you just how much worse it can get."

With the final threat hanging in the air like ice, he turned and swept from the Hall, the blood pounding in his ears as the room erupted into cacophony behind him.

/…/

The moment the Potions Master had left the room, Ron's voice blurted out across the table.

"What in Merlin's name has gotten into Snape?"

" _Professor_ Snape, Ronald," Hermione corrected automatically.

"Fine, what's gotten into _Professor_ Snape?"

She shook her head, exasperated.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly.

" _Boys_!" She exclaimed, shaking her head. "Let's look at this objectively. Professor Snape was the one who rescued her. She spends most days brewing in his Potion's lab. He didn't even take house points off us for finding her outside the castle after curfew, and Poppy and Dumbledore banished him from the room while they examined her. What do all of these things add up to?"

"That the greasy git's more insane than we thought?" Ron offered hopefully.

Hermione huffed through her nose.

"No. It means that he cares about her, Ron."

Harry and Ron both looked at her as though she'd grown another head.

" _Snape_?" Ron finally spluttered. " _Caring_ about someone? About a Gryffindor? Don't be stupid!"

But Harry was quietly pensive.

"Actually," he admitted grudgingly. "That would make some sort of sense."

Ron's mouth dropped open.

"You can't be serious?!"

Harry rubbed his hand absently over his scar.

"I never thought I'd say it, but just think about it. What does Snape hate most? Apart from me, obviously."

"Gryffindors," Ron said quickly.

"Ok, apart from me and Gryffindors?"

Hermione smiled at him.

"Children, stupidity, and disrespect" she said, nodding slowly.

"So?"

"So," Hermione said. "Amelia didn't meet Snape when she was a child, she met him when she was already an adult – and an adult with a particular aptitude for potions. She probably didn't know to treat him any differently when she first got here, since she didn't really know anything about him, so I bet she's never been disrespectful towards him. And since she can't perform magic with her wand, it's only to be expected that she'd be interested in learning more about the one subject she can do well, from the person who teaches it. I bet, if I were Professor Snape, I'd be pretty angry that the one person who seemed interested in what I did all day was suddenly attacked right under my nose. He must be livid."

Ron still looked unconvinced, but Harry nodded grimly.

"But, but-," Ron spluttered. "But what does _she_ see in _him_?!"

At that, Harry shrugged and grinned slyly.

"Not all mysteries can be solved, Ron," he said solemnly, and the three friends laughed.

"Still," Hermione said, her face growing strained again. "That doesn't help Amelia. If someone doesn't come forward, then what are we going to do?"

Harry looked around the room at the many faces still gossiping about the attack, and his eyes lingered on the Head Table.

"I think," he said slowly. "That we should do some digging of our own."

Hermione and Ron followed his gaze, to where Umbridge was sipping from a floral cup of tea, and smiling directly at them.

/…/

After he left the Hall, Snape headed straight for his Potion's lab, but no sooner had he set foot inside, than he realised he couldn't bear to start on anything knowing that there was no-one coming to interrupt him. Instead, he swept straight into his quarters and began to pace in front of his empty fire grate. He had a horrible sinking feeling that he'd over-played his hand, and revealed too much about his feelings for the witch.

 _The children of Death Eaters were sitting right there, and you all but told them you cared about her, you fool!_

He sank into a chair, his face in his hands. It was one thing to scare the student body into acquiescence, but he had a horrible feeling he knew just who was responsible for Amelia's current state, and she was sitting at the end of the staff table looking like an over-sized marshmallow.

His clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. A simple bout of Legilimency was all it would take to discover whether Umbridge had anything to do with the attack, but as useless as she was as a teacher, he had no doubt that she was a powerful and – above all – a cruel witch. She would notice any intrusion into her mind as quickly as he would, and he daren't think what the headlines would be then.

" _Former Death Eater Assaults Ministry Favourite_ ".

He'd earn himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban, and even Dumbledore wouldn't be able to prevent it. No. He was going to have to come up with a better plan than that if he was going to get anywhere. He just didn't know what it was yet.

/…/

In Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been making plans of their own. As the time arrived for Harry's usual detention with the DADA Professor that night, his two friends walked him to her office, and hid as she opened the door.

"Ah, Mr Potter," the witch smiled sweetly. "Ready for another set of lines, are we?"

Harry gritted his teeth and nodded silently, an Extendable Ear held tightly in his fist, hidden by a disillusionment charm.

Turning his face determinedly away from the smirking woman, he sat down in front of her, and as he picked up the Blood Quill, his stomach churning, he subtly slipped the Weasley product onto his desk. Outside in the corridor, Ron and Hermione crouched around the corner, the end of the device held nervously between them.

Drawing a deep breath in as he picked up the quill and began to carve lines into his own skin, Harry focused on the existence of the spying device, and tried to block out the pain. It only took a few minutes of writing before the Professor, as he knew she would, launched into one of her usual monologues.

"Well, Mr Potter, the message must be sinking in a little by now, hm?" She simpered. "I know it's difficult for a boy such as yourself – a boy so used to being afforded special treatment by the wizarding world – to be told 'no', but I will not stand for lying in my class. Nor will I stand for disloyalty."

Harry fought to keep his face impassive, focusing on the deep red words he was repeating, over and over again, and imagining it was Umbridge's hand he was carving them into, not his own.

 _I must not tell lies._

"Of course, it's not just your fault, is it dear? If you ask me, and certainly if you would speak to dear Cornelius, it's Dumbledore's fault that you're given to these flights of fancy. Between you and I, the Ministry has known for a while that the old man's mind is going."

Harry's fist clenched and he felt, rather than saw, her smirk.

"Is something the matter, Mr Potter?" She asked with faux-concern.

"No, Professor," he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"No, well, there shouldn't be," she said dangerously. "Of course, things at Hogwarts are far worse than I had feared. Taking in an Undiscovered witch, for instance!"

Her girlish chuckle rang through the room.

"And with absolutely no knowledge of where she came from, as well. And I don't buy that rubbish about Severus Snape just _happening_ to stumble across her. No, something is going on there, you mark my words. Still… I suppose it doesn't matter much anymore."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as her voice took on a satisfied quality, and he chanced a look up at her subtly.

"Yes indeed," she sighed contentedly. "It doesn't look very good for Miss Bristol at all. But of course, if one cannot control one's anger, then one ought not to be around witches and wizards who can. It's simply a safety issue. We can't all lose control now, can we? That's why we send Obscurials away, and a Bound witch or wizard is no less dangerous."

Harry's mind was racing, and he fought to keep his breathing steady.

"Yes, perhaps it's best if Miss Bristol doesn't wake up again. It's safer for us all that way. Don't you think so, Mr Potter?"

Hardly daring to open his mouth as his anger burned in his throat, Harry raised his eyes to Umbridge's, and shrugged tightly.

"I hadn't really thought about it, Professor," he managed to choke out, and she smiled superciliously.

Around the corner, Ron and Hermione were clutching the listening device tightly in their hands, their eyes locked on each other, and their expressions furious.

/…/

So, what do you think? How am I doing?


	12. Binding

Thank you for all your reviews everyone! I'm still ill at the moment and reading your comments has been lovely. Keep them coming!

Chapter 12 – Binding

Three days after Professor Snape's speech, Hermione leapt up from her seat in the library, upsetting a pot of ink and startling Harry and Ron.

"I've found it!" She exclaimed, earning herself a quelling look from the librarian.

" _Sh_ ," Harry hushed her, righting the inkpot and moving to look over her shoulder as she read.

"Binding is an archaic and dark magical practice which used to be popular in Pureblood families, following an infidelity with Muggles that resulted in magical children. To hide the transgression and prevent the magical development of the newborn witch or wizard, a Binding ritual could be performed, trapping the natural magic behind layers of dark memories, often involving trauma or unpleasant emotional responses."

Hermione paused, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"This is barbaric," she breathed.

"Keep going," Ron said, swallowing thickly.

"The practice was outlawed in 1536, following reports of Bound witches or wizards harming Muggles during fits of extreme emotion – often following the death of a loved one, or other similar upheaval. After these outbursts, the Bound persons would incinerate themselves from the inside out, as their magic quite literally boiled out of control."

"That's… That's…" Harry broke off to swallow the bile in his throat, and sank into his chair, shaking his head in mute incomprehension.

"The only known way of unlocking a Bound wizard or witch's magic safely, is for a skilled Legilimens to enter their mind, and systematically break down the barriers erected there. Even then, the chances of permanent damage are great, and death is most often the inevitable result of Unbinding."

The three of them sat in stunned silence.

"Someone Bound her," Harry whispered into the air. "Someone took away her magic."

The horror of the statement seemed to hang in the air all around them; a living, breathing presence that sucked the very oxygen from the room.

Harry's mind reeled. If someone had Bound him, he'd never have left the Dursley's. Hagrid would never have found him. He'd never have seen Hogwarts, or met Ron and Hermione, or ever, ever escaped. Suddenly feeling far more fortunate than he had in months, he blinked back tears and shook his head again, as though he could fling the knowledge away from himself.

"What do we do?" Ron asked, his face pale.

"There's only one thing we can do," Hermione said, fixing Harry with a determined glare.

"We have to tell Professor Snape."

/…/

Safely ensconced in his office, the Potions Master was taking his mounting frustration out on a pile of appalling third year essays. His quill flew over the pages and scrawled ever more inventive insults and admonishments in the margins.

"Wrong. Boring. Lack of insight. Possibly the most dunderheaded conclusion anyone has ever dared to-"

A knock at his door interrupted his tirade, and he growled in irritation.

"Enter," he demanded, and felt his face turn to thunder as Potter and his friends slipped nervously inside.

"What could possibly bring you three skulking to my door?" He sneered. "Isn't there a troll that needs defeating? A convict begging to escape? A werewolf to occupy your time? Really, I'd have assumed that even three weak minds such as yourselves would have enough self-preservation to bother Filch before you'd impose yourselves upon me."

He was satisfied to note the murderous glare Weasley levelled at the Granger girl, but the way the other two were looking at each other, with equal parts guilt and determination, was enough to shred the last of his patience.

"Well?" He snapped, glaring between the three of them. "Is one of you going to spit it out, or am I going to have to administer Veritaserum?"

He felt a flicker of admiration as Granger squared her shoulders, and noted, only then, the scuffed book clutched tightly in her hands.

"Professor Snape," she said timidly. "You said you wanted anyone who had any knowledge about the attack on Amelia to come forward, and-"

"And three days _after_ that request, you three see fit to obey?" He hissed, his voice dangerously low.

"Well, you see sir, we weren't sure, but now-"

He raised one hand up for quiet and the other to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Let me guess. You've been meddling, and have once again taken it upon yourselves to get involved in problems that _do not concern you_. Is that right?"

The three looked at each other guiltily, and he dropped his voice still lower and got to his feet.

"Is. That. Right?"

There was a moment's pause, and then:

"Well, yes sir, but-"

"It was Umbridge, ok?" Potter suddenly interrupted, his face a mask of fury. "And she knew what she was doing! She knew that if she pushed her then Amelia would burn up. If you give a damn about her then will you please just listen to us for once?"

Snape felt his breath stop in his throat; his anger at the brat's outburst warring with his need to hear what they had to say.

"And how, pray tell, do you know this?" He enquired, his dark eyes flashing.

"We listened in during Harry's detention," Hermione said quickly. "She likes to try and get under his skin, you see, and we thought she might let something slip, so we listened at the door and she said… She said…" At this, Granger's courage seemed to fail her, and he was perplexed to see a tinge of nausea colour the girl's cheeks. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose again and clenched his jaw.

"Would one of you, _please_ , master your emotions and get to the point before I have you all in detention for wasting my time?"

Interestingly, it was the youngest Weasley who stepped up next, as neither Granger or Potter seemed able to carry on.

"She said that it was dangerous to have an Undiscovered witch around, especially one that couldn't control her temper," the boy said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "She said that's why they locked Obscurials away, as well as… As well as…"

The muscles in Snape's jaw worked furiously as he fought to keep his temper.

" _Yes_?"

"As well as witches that have been Bound," Hermione said in a rush, and Snape sat down heavily as the warmth seemed to leave his body.

"You're sure"" he whispered, hardly daring to raise his own voice. "You're sure that's what she said?"

"Positive, sir," Potter said, looking every bit as sick as Snape felt.

"We found a book in the library, sir," Hermione said quietly, and pushed it onto his desk, the page still open. "We thought maybe it might… We thought it might help."

He didn't miss the way her voice cracked on the last word, or the pleading look in all of their eyes.

He stared at them blankly. What did they want him to say? That it was all going to be ok? That if Amelia were, indeed, a Bound witch, then someone in the school would be able to save her? That they hadn't just waltzed into his office, with their hopeful eyes and pleading voices, and shattered any final confidence he'd had that she might survive and be just the same, talented witch he'd spent the last few weeks getting to know?

"Get out," he hissed, and watched with grim satisfaction as their eyes widened.

"But, sir-"

"I said GET OUT!" He felt his magic force them back, and all three stumbled and tripped in their hurry to leave his rooms. He stormed out from behind his desk and slammed the door after them, his breathing coming in shallow gasps as he ran his hands furiously through his hair.

 _No, no, no, no, no._

He picked up a jar of Mandrake Root and sent it flying into the wall, where it exploded and shattered.

 _There hasn't been a Bound witch in hundreds of years._

A sweep of his arm sent his papers flying across the room.

 _But there hasn't been an Undiscovered witch in 488 years, either._

"NO!"

Three vials shattered behind his desk.

 _No, it isn't happening. It couldn't._

But as he turned over everything he knew about her condition so far, his only thought was that he should have seen it sooner. The magic triggered by fear, the uncontrolled power, the burning…

 _Oh, gods, the burning._

He sank down onto his knees. They should have seen it weeks ago; as soon as she lost control of her wand, as soon as…

He felt the blood freeze in his veins as a horrible realisation dawned, and then he was on his feet and tearing through the castle, sheer fury propelling him forward, heedless of the startled cries of students and staff as he passed by in a flurry of black robes.

 _Dumbledore._

/…/

"You _knew_!"

He burst into the Headmaster's office without knocking and swept across to the desk. The old man's eyes widened, although whether in shock or fear, Snape couldn't tell.

"Severus, I-"

"Don't lie to me, Albus! Tell me what you know about her condition, or I swear-"

But Dumbledore had already held up his hands in supplication as Snape towered over him.

"There's no need for threats, my boy," he said quietly. "We were wondering when you'd work it out."

" _We_?" Snape growled softly. "Who is _we_?"

"Poppy and I," he admitted softly. "When Amelia first used her wand, I suspected, but I couldn't be sure. And then on Saturday when you carried the girl in, Poppy confirmed my suspicions."

Snape sank down into his chair, his mouth working soundlessly.

 _He'd known. He'd known she was going to die._

"How…" He swallowed past the dryness in his mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper. "How _could_ you?"

He felt as though he were seeing Dumbledore for the first time, and what he saw made his skin crawl.

"You let me get close to her. You sat with her at meals and asked after her day. You let me _care_ about her, and all this time, you knew she was going to die!"

His voice cracked and his heart beat painfully in his chest.

"It wasn't that simple, Severus!" Dumbledore said, beseechingly. "In the beginning it was only a theory, and she seemed to respond so well to being at the school that I convinced myself I must be wrong. Then she began seeking you out, and I could see how much happier she made you, and I _tried_ …" At this, the Headmaster fixed him with a pleading look. "I tried to get you to work it out, to warn you to put your friendship aside."

Snape listened silently, torn between anger and despair.

"And I'd hoped…" Dumbledore carried on quietly. "I still hoped I was wrong. That you'd find out it was something more mundane, something I'd overlooked. On Saturday, when I examined her and realised the truth-"

"That's why you sent me out of the room," Snape said hollowly. "That's why you made me leave."

Dumbledore nodded sadly.

"I was going to tell you when I came to see you in the corridor, and again when you burst into my office, but you were just so _distraught_ ," Dumbledore shook his head, his face pained. "And I couldn't bring myself to tell you how little hope there was. I needed – I _still_ need – after all these years, to protect you, my boy."

The Headmaster's eyes filled with tears, as Snape shook his head and a humourless laugh burst from his throat.

"You call _this_ protection? This… This…" _Agony_ , his mind supplied silently. "This _lie_ , is meant to be my protection?"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore pleaded. "All hope isn't lost yet. There are still decisions to be made, things we can do…"

"They are myths only, Dumbledore!" Snape growled, leaping to his feet. "Stories from hundreds of years ago. That's all we have to go on. That's all there is. Guesswork. That's all."

His anger was making him incoherent, he knew, but he couldn't stop.

"She needs someone to pick through her mind – to _assault_ her - while she's unconscious. To force down immensely strong mental barriers and unlock memories, the content of which she might very well be better off forgetting! We have no idea who did this to her, or what conditioning they used, or what _pain_ they inflicted to… To…" He broke off, swallowing heavily around the sob that was stuck somewhere in his throat.

"And even then," he carried on, his voice shaking. "Even then she'll never be the same. She'll never be the same-" _Bright… Funny… Kind…_ "- _Talented_ witch she was. The retrieval of those memories could send her into madness, even if it doesn't kill her first!"  
Snape paused for breath, barely aware that at some point during his rant he'd begun to pace, his fingers tearing through his hair.

"And then there's the question of whether or not anyone's even skilled enough at Legilimency to attempt it! I mean who, Dumbledore? Who would possibly even try?"

He stopped pacing and cast a desperate glance towards the Headmaster, who was watching him with an expression that was somewhere between sorrow and hope.

"Oh, Severus," he said softly. "I'm sorry, but you know there's only one person who can."

Snape's eyes widened as his breath caught in his throat, and the weight of the world seemed to fall on his chest.

 _Me. It has to be me._

/…/

And that, dear readers, is the Binding! What did you think? Are you intrigued? Do we think Snape can save her or not?


	13. Legilimency

You lot are all brilliant! This is the longest chapter so far purely because I couldn't seem to find a natural stopping point, so I hope you enjoy…

Chapter 13 – Legilimency

His black eyes never left the steady rise and fall of her chest. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting by Amelia's bed, but he noted absently that the light had faded from the windows and the corridor outside was deserted. It had been days since he'd confronted Dumbledore, and he'd taken leave from teaching to pore over piles and piles of ancient tomes, looking for something – _anything_ – that might help him to bring her back.

Despite his exhausting pursuit, he'd only succeeded in confirming what he already knew. The barriers in her mind had to be brought down slowly, piece by piece, allowing her unconscious mind to release her magic gradually, and reintroduce the buried memories to their rightful place. After that, it was simply a question of whether her body, or her sanity, could stand the trauma.

There was also a risk to him, he knew. A mind that fractured while being manipulated by a Legilimens could be a dangerous place, and it wasn't unheard of for a witch or wizard attempting the procedure to be harmed, or even killed - either by the untamed magic, or the chaos of the subject's mind itself.

 _Subject,_ he sneered to himself. _No, not a subject_. _Amy._

"Amy," he whispered out-loud. "I know you can't hear me, but I wanted you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I'm going to do to you." He swallowed hard.

"I'm won't deceive you by saying it's not going to hurt, because it will," he drew a deep breath in. "And I'm not going to say it's not going to be a violation, because it will be."

He shuddered, hating himself.

"But I promise that I won't… That I'll try not to pry. I'll try to be gentle. I'll try…"

His throat burnt and his voice shook.

"Please don't hate me," he whispered at last. "Everyone else hates me. I don't think I could stand it if you did to."

He didn't acknowledge the fact that she might die. He couldn't even bring himself to think it, but the potential for her hatred scared him almost as much. Would she ever forgive him? He didn't think so, somehow, but if she lived, then maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe there would be time for forgiveness later. What he had to focus on now, was keeping her alive.

He raised his own Occlumency barriers against his fears, and methodically emptied his mind. A few minutes later, feeling calmer and more in control, he settled himself more comfortably into the chair at her side, and raised his voice slightly.

"Alright, Headmaster," he called to Poppy's office. "I'm ready to begin."

Albus stepped into the room, followed by Minerva and Madame Pomfrey. When Snape entered Amelia's mind, it was Dumbledore's job to stand ready to pull him out, should he start to get lost. Poppy brought over a range of potion vials that he recognised as a strengthening solution, a pain reliever, and a calming draught, and he nodded in mute agreement with her choices.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Severus?" Minerva asked him, worry evident in the lines of her face.

"There's no other choice, Minerva," he answered resolutely. _Aside from letting her die_. "Poppy?"

The Medi-witch paused for a moment before levitating the bed so that Amelia was sitting, and bending over her to gently open her eyes. The blank, unseeing stare looking back at him sent a shiver down his spine, but he swallowed his revulsion, and forced himself to make eye contact. Taking a deep breath, he reached out with his mind to brush hers, and then slipped gently below the surface.

/…/

Immediately, he found himself assaulted by visions of dreams, and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly to anchor himself in the room, only half-aware that Albus has drawn his wand at his side.

 _Amelia, younger and laughing with a group of people he didn't recognise._

 _A pub, where she was pulling pints._

 _A young girl with fiery red hair running down a country lane towards a river._

 _A spool of black mist breaking into the image, so subtle that he might have missed it._

He shored up his Occlumency shields and stepped lightly forwards, feeling a tug at his navel as though he were caught in an undercurrent. He tested the tension of the pull gently, and finding that he could move backwards if he wanted, he let it lead him through flashes of images that passed so quickly he barely had time to register them. With a shock, he felt a brush of consciousness reach out to his own, and he froze, pushing his mind forward to move against it.

 _Amelia?_

He waited, and was answered by silence, and a thickening blackness swirling at his legs.

 _Amelia?_

He tried again, and the unmistakeable answering warmth made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

 _Amy,_ he called out into the darkness, as more images slipped by. _Are you here?_

For a moment, there was nothing, and then a voice, so quiet he almost missed it, reached out from somewhere in the mist.

 _Severus?_ The voice breathed. _Severus, I'm here._

He felt a rush of hope, even as the voice seemed to carry away from him on the air.

 _I'm coming to find you,_ he thought desperately. _Try to follow my voice._

He moved through the dark, the fog swirling up to his chest now, and becoming thicker and more viscous as he moved against it. The images were receding, blurring at the edges, as a pale light at the end of the black slipstream glowed in the distance.

 _Severus_ , the voice said again, closer now. _Are you really here?_

He felt his heartbeat quicken.

 _I'm here,_ he thought back. _I've come to find you._

His shields trembled, and he winced as he inadvertently allowed his own joy at the sound of her voice to brush against her thoughts.

The echo of an unmistakeable laugh answered him, and he felt relief that wasn't his own burrow into his chest.

 _I'm coming_ , he thought, over and over again. _I'm coming, hold on._

And then, suddenly, he could see her; a figure far in the distance, curled into a ball and trembling in the midst of the swirling fog. He felt panic spike in his chest and he tried to move quicker, but the darkness clutched at him and slowed him down.

 _Amy, I'm here, I can see you_ , he thought desperately. _Amy, hold on._

And then, without warning, the current took him, and he cried out as he fell backwards. His mouth filled with metallic fog and the cold clawed at his throat.

 _AMY!_

He screamed in fear as he felt himself pulled under and smothered, and the mist filled his nose and his eyes and his ears, and just as he realised that he couldn't reach his anchor anymore and panic threatened to overwhelm him, he suddenly felt her mind meld with his and force him to the surface.

He rose, spluttering, tearing the mist away from his face and gasping into the air. He felt Amelia send a wave of calm down her connection to him, and as he regained his feet his breathing slowed, and he mentally searched for his anchor. It was still there, shuddering at his back, but he could feel the pull of the slipstream around his feet still, and knew that he couldn't afford to get dragged under again.

 _Thank you_ , he thought to her, sending his gratitude along with it.

 _Are you ok?_

Her voice was closer now, and the images passed by in black and white, stuttering and starting again as though running on a broken film reel.

 _I'm ok,_ he thought. _Try to come to me. The current's too strong._

Ahead, he saw the prone figure begin to uncurl herself slowly, and he moved forward as quickly as he dared, ignoring the flood of memories at his side and focusing intently on the woman making her way towards him.

As her eyes met his he felt a spark of delight leap between them, although whether from her or from him, he couldn't tell. All at once, the fog began to recede and she was running towards him, and before he knew what had happened, she was there and had thrown her arms around his neck, and their minds met in a wave of warmth and relief.

 _Severus! You came, you came, you came._

The force of her joy nearly overwhelmed him, and without any conscious thought, he brought his arms around her and clutched her to him just as fiercely.

 _Of course I came,_ he thought. _Of course I came._

He only realised she was sobbing when her shoulders started to shake, and he tightened his grip on her and held her protectively against his chest, resisting the urge to bury his nose in her hair. The depth of her fear and pain touched briefly at his subconscious, and he felt his own eyes burn before he was able to force it away.

 _It's ok_ , he soothed, sending her as much strength as he dared _. It's ok, I'm going to get you out of here. I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe, I promise, you're safe._

As she sobbed, he worked on building up the barriers between their minds, desperately hiding from her how good it felt to have her in his arms, and how much he didn't want to let her go. By degrees, she regained control of herself and stepped away from him, her hands holding onto his forearms as she raised a pale, tear stained face to his.

"I'm sorry," she said shakily, and he sent a wave of amused derision at her, and heard her laugh in response.

"Where are we?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you know?"

She looked around them at the darkness punctuated by racing images, and he felt her grip on his arms tighten.

"I have a theory…" She looked up at him uncertainly for confirmation.

He sighed in exasperation, finding comfort in his familiar habits, even as his mind struggled to process the newness of a woman voluntarily clinging to him.

"Since you seem incapable of saying it, then _yes_ , we are in your mind," he said, smirking as he felt her irritation in response. Good. Irritation he could understand. Irritation was expected.

"How?" She whispered softly, and he fought the urge to squeeze her arm reassuringly.

"That, I'm afraid, is going to take a little while to explain."

He felt her amusement for a moment as though it were his own, and she looked up at him with a wry smile.

"I can promise you, I'm not going anywhere," she said.

/…/

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew that he'd already lingered too long. After he'd taught her the rudiments of manipulating her immediate environment, Amelia had weaved a comfortable room from the threads of her subconscious, and they were now sitting in what she assured him was a near-perfect replica of her favourite pub; complete with roaring fire, oak tables, and leather armchairs, but mercifully without any other patrons or staff.

Unfortunately, the familiar setting wasn't enough to quell her panic as he explained the Binding to her, and he thought his heart might break as her sorrow overwhelmed him. Almost instantly, he found himself on his knees at the side of her chair, and taking her hands in his in an attempt to reassure her.

 _Amelia,_ he thought rather than spoke, willing her to feel the depth of his promise. _It will be ok. I'll help you. I won't let anything happen to you._

She gripped his hands tightly.

 _How could they bear to do it?_ She thought sadly. _Why would someone do that to me?_

He felt her horror and soothed it as quickly as he could.

 _I don't know,_ he replied honestly. _But I'm going to help you. If you'll let me?_

She looked at him strangely, and he dropped his shields a little to feel her confusion.

 _Why wouldn't I let you?_

He sighed and let go of her hands, moving to stand in front of the fire with his back to her.

"The only way to fix this is to break down the barriers associated with the Binding Ritual," he said, aware, even though his back was turned, that she was watching him intently. "The way the Ritual works, is to bind your magic to unpleasant memories, and particularly to negative emotions. The result being, that you'll instinctively recoil from emotions like anger, fear, and pain, and therefore detach yourself further and further from your magic as a result. But the process of Unbinding the magic from the memories is, in many ways, as barbaric as the Binding itself. I'll have to locate the barriers, and bring them down so you can re-live the trauma that conditioned you against your power, and only when every barrier is down, will I be able to unravel the magical traces from the emotional. It's not…" He paused, trying to find the right words. "It's not going to be pleasant. It will be painful, and frightening. You'll be at your most vulnerable and I have to be there to witness it all. If you were to attempt it on your own, you wouldn't be able to control your mind's reactions and there's a very good chance it would kill you."

He found he was pacing again, his agitation evident, and he forced himself to stop and look at her directly.

"Even with my help it's going to be dangerous, and there's nothing I can do to lessen the pain, because neither of us have any idea what to expect when we start the process of you remembering," he found that a pleading note had crept into his voice. He needed her to understand how much trust she'd be placing in him. He needed her to know how bad it was going to be. "You have to understand, that you'll be giving me a ring-side seat to the worst experiences of your life, and there will be nothing I can do to stop it."

She observed him calmly, but he felt her fear nonetheless.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" He reached across their connection, willing her to feel his worry, his concern, his need for her to accept what he was telling her.

She nodded slowly, and he felt her trepidation and her resolve.

"I understand," she said softly. "But there's no alternative, is there? Either we do this, or I die."

He felt his chest constrict, but forced himself to nod.

"Before you came looking for me here, I was…" She shook her head, shivering. "I don't know how to describe it. It was like drowning and falling at the same time. Everything was black, and then I'd get sucked into memories that I knew were memories, but I couldn't change their path, and for ages I could still feel the pain – the _burning_ – from when I lost control, and it…"

She shook her head again, recoiling from the memory, and Snape's heart ached for her.

"I can't stay trapped in here, Professor," she said quietly at last. "And I don't really want to die."

She smiled up at him.

"So I guess my only choice is the Unbinding."

He sighed heavily, even though he knew she was right.

"Very well," he agreed. "But we can't start now. I've already been here too long. I have to-"

"You're leaving?" Amelia's voice rose in panic and she was at his side in an instant. "Professor, I-"

"It's ok," he reassured her. "Now you can build rooms within your mind you'll be able to stay here safely. It won't feel like drowning anymore. But I can't stay. I have to go back and rest, so that later I'll be strong enough to return and begin the process of bringing you out of here."

He tried to push as much calm towards her as he could, but she still moved forward and gripped his arms tightly.

"Please," she whispered, staring intently up into his face. "Please don't go, Severus."

He looked into her brown eyes, and felt a pang of hurt at the naked fear he saw in them.

"I'll come back," he said, as reassuringly as he could. "I promise."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes pleading, and then seemed to come to a decision. She nodded once and dropped her arms from his, her face turned towards the ground.

The loss of her touch bothered him more than it should have, and he retreated back inside himself to control his reaction.

"Come on," he said, taking her gently by the elbow.

"Where?" She laughed suddenly, the absurdity of the situation suddenly seeming to hit her.

His lips quirked upwards in answer.

"I'm anchored to the corporeal world, and I need to follow it back to return to my own body before Albus and Poppy start having Hippogriffs, or the old fool's stupid enough to come in after me. We're deep in your subconscious here, but if I can pull you towards the surface with me, you might be able to observe the real world again."

"You mean, I would be conscious?" She said, furrowing her brow. "But I thought you said-"

"No, you wouldn't be conscious in the traditional sense," he corrected, slipping inadvertently into his lecturing tone. "But you'd be aware of your body, and it should stop you from falling too deeply in again so that when I return, I won't have to search so hard to find you."

"Ok," she nodded, as they stepped out of the pub and back into the slipstream. "So, how do we get back?"

"Give me a moment," he smirked, and reached out as far as he could back to his body, along silvery lines of consciousness that weaved their way delicately through the dark.

/…/

In the Hospital Wing, Snape's wand arm twitched, and Dumbledore immediately moved forward.

"Was that…?" Minerva asked.

"I'm not sure," the Headmaster answered. "We have to wait until-"

The Potions Master's arm twitched again, harder this time, and the three colleagues let out a cheer as Dumbledore beamed, and brushed the surface of the younger man's mind.

 _Severus! Are you here?_

 _Obviously, old man._

 _Thank Merlin! We've been so worried._

 _For Circe's sake, don't fuss,_ he sneered.

 _I'm sorry my boy, I'm sorry. Old habits. Did you find her?_

 _I did_ , he answered, and was gratified to feel Dumbledore's pride passed down their connection.

 _I'm going to reach out to you in a moment and I need you to pull me back, but Amelia's going to travel part way._

 _Of course, my boy_ , Dumbledore thought, drawing his own anchor around his consciousness.

 _Are you ready?_

A moment's pause, and then:

 _Yes._

 _3…_

 _2…_

 _1…_

 _NOW!_

Dumbledore braced himself as a mental tug attempted to tip him forward. He felt the familiar weight of Severus' mind pulling at his own, and the strange crackling energy of Amelia's caught between the two of them. Then, in a burst of warmth, he felt the woman disengage from the chain, and a moment later, Snape slipped from him as well, drawing a deep breath in as he became aware of the room around him.

Dumbledore leant against Minerva for a moment as he regained his perspective, and Snape shuddered to full consciousness, his face pale and sweat standing out on his brow.

"Drink this," Poppy ordered immediately, thrusting a strengthening solution into his shaking hands. "You said you wouldn't be long, Severus Snape! Do you have any idea how much time has passed?"

"For Merlin's sake, Poppy," He sneered. "Will you cease your infernal clucking?"

"Not until you've drank every one of these potion vials-"

"I do not need a calming draught!" He growled, unstoppering the strengthening solution and swallowing it in a single mouthful.

Immediately, his exhaustion receded and his hands stopped shaking. Poppy put her hands on her hips, her lips drawn into a thin line, and he met her gaze combatively.

"I. Do. Not. Need. A. Calming. Draught," he insisted severely, his eyebrows furrowed into a scowl.

After a moment's hesitation, the Medi-witch sighed and relented.

"If you say so, Severus," she tutted. "But drink the pain reliever. I'd warrant you have a rather nasty headache."

Not dignifying that with a response – although his head was pounding – he picked up the vial and swallowed that too.

"Satisfied?" He sneered.

"Hardly," Poppy griped, but at least had the good grace to slip the calming draught into her pocket.

"How is she?" Minerva asked, glancing between Severus and Amelia's still-staring eyes.

Snape sighed wearily.

"Better than I'd hoped to find," he admitted. "Her mind's still sharp and she's aware of what's happening. We pulled her up closer to the surface of her subconscious, so there's a chance she's aware of us now."

Minerva's eyes widened in shock.

"But she… She looks so…."

"Blank?" He offered unkindly, and the Head of Gryffindor house had the good grace to blush.

"How will we know if she can…?"

Snape hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and allowing his mind to brush against Amelia's. He found her immediately without needing to sink out of his own body, and his three colleagues looked between themselves, perplexed, as he stifled a snort.

 _Who are you calling 'blank'?_ Amelia thought indignantly at him.

 _I assure you, I did not intend it as an insult. If you could observe your eyes at the present moment I'm sure you'd say much the same_.

He broke the connection again, leaning back in his chair.

"She is somewhat insulted about my chosen adjective," he smirked, and Poppy clapped her hand over her mouth.

"She can _hear_ us?"

"Evidently," he drawled, and then frowned as he felt Amelia brush his mind suddenly.

 _How did you do that?_

 _What?_

 _You reached out without maintaining eye contact._

He felt her uncertainty.

 _I don't know,_ she answered at last _. I just looked for you and you were there._

"Hm…"

"What is it, Severus?"

"It appears that Amelia and I have established some form of a connection. She was just able to speak to me without the use of eye contact."

Dumbledore eyes twinkled.

"Well, how extraordinary," he mused. "It seems we may have to arrange a more stimulating environment for the poor girl after all."

"Headmaster?"

"Well, if Amelia is indeed aware of us now, we can hardly leave her staring at the four walls for 24 hours a day. Perhaps a visiting rota could be drawn up?"

Snape nodded slowly.

"That would be…. Prudent, I think, Headmaster. It will prevent her from slipping too far back into her mind if we can keep her attention focused on her surroundings."

"That's settled, then," Dumbledore beamed. "I wonder, if Amelia might consent for me to attempt to speak with her?"

Snape scowled and allowed himself to reach out to her again.

 _Is that agreeable to you?_

He felt her agreement and nodded to the Headmaster before withdrawing.

Dumbledore leant forward, and Snape watched with more than his usual sense of protectiveness as the old man attempted to contact her, relaxing again only when he straightened up and smiled.

"It seems she is, indeed, content for the moment," he said. "Although she asks that, Poppy, you not close her eyes until it is time for her body to sleep."

"Of course, Headmaster," the Medi-witch agreed. "No doubt it would be terrible for the poor dear otherwise."

"Indeed," Snape mused absently, his thoughts still jumbled from his excursion into another's mind.

They were silent for a moment, and then the Potions Master shook his head to clear it, and got to his feet abruptly.

"If we're done here, I find I am in need of rest," he said dryly.

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "Will you start the Unbinding tomorrow?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded stiffly.

"I will," he said. "In the meantime, please see that I am not disturbed."

He cast his eyes once over Amelia, feeling her sudden sadness at his absence and pushing it away from himself as quickly as possible, before he swept from the room, and made for the relative peace of his chambers. At least there, he'd be able to admit to himself just how draining he'd found the evening's work, and give in, just a little, to the unease he felt about starting the Unbinding process in earnest.

 _Merlin,_ he thought _. What have I got myself into?_

/…/

So, what did you think? Too much? Not enough? Do me a huge favour and hit the review button if you can


	14. The First Barrier

Hello everyone! I'm so sorry – it's been months since I've posted! I've been ill so this has got away from me a little, but I still know where it's going and I would still LOVE for you to read and let me know what you think!

CW For scenes of child abuse, but here is:

Chapter 14 – The First Barriers

The next morning, Snape rose early and ran himself a rare bath. He lingered in the warm water for a long time, Occluding his thoughts systematically, and building up his defences as best he could. When he'd dressed and eaten sparingly, he opened an old oak cabinet and pulled out a smooth black pensieve. Taking a deep breath, he began to call up memories from his childhood, in which his violent father featured heavily, and pulled them from his temple with the tip of his wand.

Next, he removed all of the sensitive information pertaining to his role as a spy, wincing at the remembrances of destruction and pain, and finally, he removed the memory of himself being tortured by Voldemort for not discovering the cause of Amelia's appearance sooner. There was no need to trouble her with that, he reasoned, although a part of him felt guilty for hiding so much of his own life from her, when he was going to have to witness the worst moments of hers.

His guilt and trepidation settled like a stone in his chest as he made his way towards the Hospital Wing, and the private room Poppy had set up for Amelia there. Coupled with the headache that was brewing from his memory-removal, his mood was so thunderous that the students scattered as he strode through the corridors, and he was delighted to see Neville Longbottom turn around as he came out of the Great Hall, and walk straight back inside just to avoid him.

Inside the Hospital Wing, Poppy and Albus were standing outside the door to Amelia's room, but mercifully, there were no other students in need of treatment so early in the morning. Snape swept in gracefully, his wand already in his hand and his thoughts carefully Occluded.

"Headmaster, Poppy," he greeted them, inclining his head infinitesimally.

"Good morning, my boy," Dumbledore beamed. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

He sniffed derisively.

"Hardly," he sneered. "If it's alright with you, Headmaster, I'd like to get started as soon as possible."

Before Dumbledore could answer, Poppy bustled over and placed her hands on either side of Snape's face, and he flinched backwards as though struck, scowling furiously.

"Unhand me, woman!" He exclaimed, his discomfort evident. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You're not looking particularly well rested, Severus," she tutted, undeterred. "Are you sure you should be doing this today?"

"I assure you, I am perfectly fine," he said stiffly. "How is Amelia? Have you noticed any change?"

The Medi-witch sighed.

"I've been talking to her as I go about my day, but honestly, the way she stares… It's unnerving, and I can't tell whether or not she's really in there. It's possible her cheeks have a little more colour to them, but as for whether or not she's still aware of what's going on, you'll have to ask her that. I've never felt the inability to perform Legilimency has held me back as a Healer before now, but I do confess, it would be a great help in this instance."

Snape nodded thoughtfully and made to walk past her and into Amelia's room, eager, in spite of himself, to see her again, but Dumbledore blocked his path.

"Remember, Severus," he said gravely. "Once you start this process, it must be seen through - to whatever end. Are you sure you're quite ready?"

Snape drew himself up, his obsidian eyes carefully blank as he met the Headmaster's gaze.

"I intend to do what I can for her, Headmaster," he said. "Nothing more, and nothing less."

He felt Albus brush the edges of his consciousness subtly, but his thoughts were carefully hidden, and he smirked as the old man came up against his barriers empty-handed, and his face fell.

"If you're quite done invading my privacy, I'd like to get started," he said as dismissively as he could, and Dumbledore had the good grace to look abashed, as the Potions Master pushed past him and into the room.

 _What's got your wand in a knot?_ Amelia thought as soon as he walked in, and he suppressed a smirk, and dutifully ignored the thrill his heart had given at hearing her reach out to him.

 _The old coot's pushing his boundaries again,_ he replied, taking his seat at her side. _How are you?_

 _Bored. The beer in my subconscious pub isn't half as satisfying as it was in real life._

Snape raised an eyebrow.

 _Please don't tell me you've been trying to drink?_

 _Who said anything about 'trying'? I'll have you know I've been succeeding! It just hasn't been all that satisfying…_

He shook his hair in front of his face to hide his smile, and felt her giggle in his mind in response. Clearing his throat self-consciously, he looked over to the doorway, where Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey were watching him in anticipation.

"She's still here," he told them. "I won't have to go looking for her again."

"Ah, what excellent news!" Dumbledore replied, slipping easily into his doting grandfather persona. "How was your night, Amelia? Did you sleep well?"

Snape paused and glanced towards her.

"She says she thinks she dozed," he replied. "And she thanks Poppy for talking to her, and says she can see how Quidditch matches would increase her workload."

Poppy blushed and dipped her head self-consciously.

"You're welcome, dear," she said at last. "I confess, I wasn't sure you could hear me at all."

"Indeed," Snape drawled. "Headmaster?"

Albus sighed and stood at the foot of Amelia's bed so she could see him clearly.

"You remember what I said to you yesterday?" He said, and Snape's brow furrowed.

"What did he say to you?" He asked, looking between the two of them suspiciously.

Amelia reached out to Dumbledore first.

 _I remember. If it gets too dangerous, I'll force him out. I'll do everything I can to keep him safe, I promise._

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"I know you will, dear child," he said softly.

"Will one of you please include the rest of us in your secrets?" Snape growled, his patience wearing thin.

 _He asked me to look after you. Try not to be too abrasive,_ Amelia replied.

Snape sat in stunned silence for a second, before rounding on the Headmaster.

"Albus," he hissed softly. "Cease your meddling, just this once, I implore you."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he held up his hands.

"My apologies, dear boy. Forgive an old man his worries."

Snape huffed through his nose and turned back to Amelia.

 _Are you ready?_ He asked.

 _Yes._

 _Then let's begin._

/…/

Slipping into her mind this time felt easier, and his chest warmed as he felt her welcoming him in. Despite himself, he snorted in amusement as he walked into her subconscious pub, and found her lounging luxuriously on a leather sofa, a pint of beer held comfortably in her hand, and looking for all intents and purposes, as though she were simply relaxing after a hard day's work. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled impishly as he approached.

"Fancy a drink?" She grinned. "I think I've got the hang of it now. Watch!"

Before he could protest, she'd bounded past him and moved behind the bar, where she plucked a bottle of rum from a shelf, and materialised a glass in her hand in one swift movement.

"It's a little early, don't you think?" He chastised, but his eyes were warm, and Amelia simply giggled and handed him the drink.

"Try it," she insisted, beaming.

He huffed a sigh and took a sip, quirking an eyebrow at her expectant look.

"And what, pray tell, should I be tasting?"

Her face fell.

"Didn't it work?" She asked with an expression that looked suspiciously like a pout. He shook his head in exasperation.

"This is your subconscious," he informed her dryly. "Only you can taste things here. I can see and touch, but the memory of the other senses comes specifically from you. This," he waved the glass in front of her. "Is simply nothing."

She leant easily on the bar and sighed.

"That's a shame," she said. "It's really very good rum."

"Indeed," he replied, putting down the glass as a sudden thought struck him.

"Did you used to work here?"

To his secret pleasure, Amelia blushed.

"After university," she said, smiling. "It's one of my favourite places in the world."

"I suppose that might help…" He mused, casting a more critical eye over their surroundings.

"Help? With the Unbinding?"

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. Being somewhere you feel safe might help guard against some of the more unpleasant emotions. At the very least, it can't hurt."

She nodded, her smile fading as she moved to stand next to him.

"I guess there's no point in putting it off with a drink then, is there?" She asked resignedly. The comment was glib, but he caught the disguised worry in her voice.

"No," he said, as gently as he could. "We need to start isolating the memories. The longer you're trapped in here the harder it will be to bring you out."

He watched with no small amount of admiration, as she drew a steadying breath in, and squared her shoulders.

"Ok Professor," she said. "Tell me what to do."

/…/

Moments later, they stood by the open door to her pub, and stared out at the roiling black slipstream and the disorientating influx of images flitting by in the air. Snape stood behind her, his hands barely resting on her shoulders, and began to murmur an incantation. An ethereal wind picked up, blowing in off the stream as though from over an ocean, and tendrils of light began to weave themselves through the dark. He felt Amelia tense beneath his hands as the first tugs of resistance began to pull at them, and he tightened his grip to keep her steady.

Slowly, the black mist began to buck and rise, drifting over the flowing memories and subsuming them in darkness, until all that was left in front of them was a wall of black vapour, crashing like waves against a cliff-face as it tugged against the silvery lines of magic. The wind picked up, and they both felt the solid ground of the pub shudder beneath their feet.

"Concentrate," he hissed into her ear. "Keep your mind fixed on the pub, and anchor yourself."

Amelia obeyed, fixing her thoughts on the feel of the floor beneath her feet, and the warmth of his hands on her shoulders.

 _What next?_ She asked nervously.

Severus focused his mind, and the silvery lines of magic began to glow red and thrash like snakes caught in a trap.

The heat around them increased like a desert wind, and suddenly Amelia felt pain lance through her head as though someone were pushing a burning needle into her eyes.

 _Severus!  
I'm sorry._

And then the black mist congealed, the red streams burnt like lava, and a single memory formed itself around them. All of the air left Amelia's body.

A small girl, no more than three or four years old, lay curled up in a dirty corner of an even dirtier room. As one, Severus and Amelia took a step towards her, and as they watched, the little girl uncurled herself and sat up. Even as a child, the hair on Amelia's head was a shock of bright red, and her eyes, Snape noticed, were bright and curious.

A crash sounded from somewhere outside the room, and they felt the child's panic as she clambered to her feet and attempted to hide behind a neglected and dilapidated bookcase - the only piece of furniture in the room. Footsteps stormed up the stairs, and the younger Amelia shrieked and hid her face as a shadowy figure burst into the room in a flurry of laughter and power.

"Oh Ammmyyyyyy!" A woman's voice crooned, but in the memory, they couldn't make out her face.

"Please," the little girl begged. "Not today, Auntie. I'll be good, I promise."

Severus felt a wave of nausea wash over him as the faceless woman laughed.

"You know the rules, little one. You used magic again, didn't you?"

The younger Amelia paled.

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident, I swear!"

The woman clicked her tongue and moved gracefully towards her.

"I know, little one, I know…" Her voice was sympathetic, kindly even, and the young Amelia leaned into the gentle touch, apparently desperate for any small act of kindness.

"But," the faceless woman whispered, lowering her face to Amelia's head. "Rules are there for a reason. _Crucio_!"

Snape let out an involuntary cry and lurched forward, putting his body between the woman and child in an effort to shield her, but passing through them both like they were made of smoke. A moment later, screams from both of the Amelia's rent the air, and Snape fought down bile as the child writhed on the floor, and the Amelia he'd come here to find sank to her knees, her hands cradling her head, shrieking as though she were being burned.

He dropped to his knees beside her, thinking desperately:

 _It's just a memory. It will be ok. It's just a memory._

But he knew that the pain her younger self felt was leaping across history, burning her afresh as though it were the first time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. She would have to live it again.

After a few long seconds, during which Snape would have happily plucked out his own eyes if it would have put a stop to what he was seeing, the spell ended, and an eerie silence took its place, punctuated by the soft whimpers of the shuddering child.

"Say it," the woman hissed.

"M- m- ma-"

"Say. It. _Now_."

"Magic – is – pain," the younger Amelia managed to choke out between sobs.

"What else?"

Her mouth worked, but no sound came out, and Snape fought down the urge to reach for her again. He knew, only too well, the pain of the Cruciatus curse, and to use it on a _child_ was inconceivable. He was amazed she was still conscious at all.

"I said, what else?"

The child's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Anger is pain."

The faceless witch sent a thread of gold to wrap around the little girl's wrist. Snape got to his feet and began to murmur his own incantation, a counter-point to the witch's spell.

"What else?"

"Jealousy is pain."

Silver lines, like translucent netting, weaved their way from Snape's wandtip and began to unknit the magical bonds binding the child from so many years ago.

"What else?"

"Jealousy is pain. Cruelty is pain. Fear is pain. Sadness is pain. Magic is pain."

One-by-one, as the witch sent snakes of gold to bind Amelia's magic to her agony, Snape's silver net cut them free and released them again, and all the while, Amelia watched from across the room with a vacant, tormented gaze.

"Good girl," the witch hissed. "Now, you're not going to do it again, are you?"

The sobbing girl shook her head.

"No, Auntie."

"No Auntie, what?"

"I promise I won't use magic. I promise."

"Good girl. _Crucio_!"

Screaming pierced the air, and Snape stood back, anguished, as both of the Amelia's bucked and writhed on the floor, and the witch laughed with glee.

Finally, just when he was certain that no child could possibly take anymore, the screaming stopped, the memory dissolved, and the pub re-materialised around them. The younger Amelia was gone, and the one he'd grown to care for was curled into the foetal position on the floor, her entire body trembling silently.

He got to his knees again, his hand poised uncertainly above her, wanting so desperately to reach out, but scared that he might cause her more pain.

 _Amelia?_

He could see her shoulders shaking, but she didn't make a sound.

 _Amelia?_

His panic rose.

 _Amelia, answer me. Please._

A choked sob was her only response, and before he'd had time to put his Occlumency barriers in place, a wave of horror, confusion, and grief assaulted him. He gasped, bowled backwards by the force of her emotions.

"Amelia," he choked out, hardly able to bear it. "Amelia, stop."

As suddenly as they'd arrived, the feelings receded, and he felt weariness descend over him like a shroud.

"Amelia," he managed to breathe, with difficulty. "I'm sorry, but you _can't_. If you do that again, we'll both be lost."

The effort it took him to re-establish his anchor with Dumbledore was far too great, and he could feel his energy ebbing away far quicker than he'd thought possible.

 _I'm sorry_ , she thought to him, her voice small and soft.

 _It's ok. I don't blame you._

Silence.

 _I'm sorry._

His irritation rose before he was able to control it.

 _I said it's ok,_ he snapped.

She recoiled and he immediately burnt with shame.

 _I didn't mean…_

He reached his hand out to her hesitantly.

 _I'm sorry._

Slowly, she reached back, and then, like a child far younger than her years, she crawled the pain-ridden final metre towards him, and curled up with her head on his lap, her whole body shaking.

He sat there for a moment, stunned, his arm still held out above her head. And then, simply because he didn't know what else to do, he rested his hand on her back, and felt the tension creep into his body. One memory down. Untold hundreds more to come.

/…/

So, there's Chapter 14! What did you think? Hit review if you can!


	15. Out of Her Mind

Thanks so much to everyone reviewing! I really appreciate it. I've got a few chapters stored up, so should be posting a little more regularly now!

CW for scenes of child abuse, but here is:

 **Chapter 15 – Out of Her Mind**

He didn't know how long they'd been there. He didn't know how many memories they'd unbound. All he knew was that he ached to his very soul, his strength was failing him, and Amelia was steadily losing her mind.

Most of her memories were the same – the Amelia of childhood, always under five-years-old, would hide in the dirty room until the faceless woman swept in and tortured her. Sometimes the sessions were brief. Sometimes, sickeningly, they lasted for hours. Always, certain things were repeated.

"Control your emotions or you'll feel pain," was a constant refrain, and each negative experience was tied inextricably to the use of the Cruciatus Curse. Snape didn't think he'd ever be able to forget her desperate screams, childish in pitch, but horrifyingly adult in the depth of their agony. Now, he found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor of the pub, Amelia's body cradled in his arms, as she wept and shook after a particularly vicious memory had been played out in front of them.

Tentatively, he reached out and brushed her mind with his own, but immediately had to retreat and build up the walls between them, his panic rising. What he found there was garbled, incoherent; a mind awash only with disparate feelings and the most basic of needs. No-where could he find the intelligent witch he knew, and as he held her, subconsciously rocking her back and forth, he feared this would be the last time they'd ever be able to communicate again.

All around him, the pub was collapsing. At first it had been subtle; the leather of the sofas becoming more faded and the lights starting to dim. But now it was impossible to ignore. Great cracks had appeared in the walls, and with each shudder of Amelia's breath, dust cascaded from the ceiling and blanketed them both in grey. The bar had buckled under the strain, and bottles and glasses were smashed across the floor. Above their heads, the roof creaked and strained, and he knew it was only a matter of time until it would bury them both, and they would be lost.

 _Amelia_? He pushed as gently as he could.

She continued to shake in his arms.

 _Amelia, we have to keep going. Can you do that?_

A slight pause in her trembling, a single nod, and with a wave of revulsion engulfing him, he began the incantation.

All at once, the pub receded from view, but this time when the memory formed, something was different.

Instead of the dank and dirty room, they were standing in bright sunlight in the middle of an open field. Amelia raised her head from his lap and blinked in the glare from her memory. Gently, he helped her to her feet, and stood poised at her side, his wand ready.

"Oh, little one," the faceless woman crooned. "It's been fun, but now our time together has come to an end."

A slightly older Amelia, perhaps six or seven, looked up at her warily through a fringe matted with dirt.

"Auntie?" She asked softly, her thin frame trembling even though it was warm.

"Now now, little one, it won't be so bad. You want to go away from Auntie, after all. Don't you, you little bitch?"

The young Amelia froze, a lie on the tip of her tongue, but seeming to know intuitively that to say so would be futile. The faceless woman laughed.

"Don't worry, I know you do. Which is why I'm going to grant you your wish. You're going to die, little one."

Amelia began to shake.

"After today, you won't know your name. You won't know me. You'll hardly ever have existed at all."

Little Amelia began to cry, silently, with hot tears cutting tracks through the dirt on her cheeks.

"Please Auntie," she whimpered. "Haven't I been good?"

The witch laughed.

"Of _course_ you've been good, little one. No magic for over a year now, just like we talked about. And that's why you have to go away."

To Snape's disgust, the child reached out for her abuser, and he was reminded forcefully of how a younger, more vulnerable him, had tried everything to please his abusive father. Craving kindness and approval, even as the blows rained down on his head.

"But Auntie, I-"

" _Crucio_!"

The little girl screamed, but the Amelia who dropped to the floor at his side hardly made a sound; too exhausted even to wail at the abuse her mind was still taking.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You must promise me there will be no more magic. Can you do that, little one?"

Sniffling, the child nodded.

"Auntie-"

The witch raised her wand.

"I-"

" _Obliviate_."

A dreamy, vacant expression moved across the young Amelia's face, and she swayed on the spot before glancing around herself, confused. The witch disillusioned herself, and all at once, the little girl was alone, lost, and scared. A voice was heard to whisper from somewhere on the wind:

"Your name is Amelia Bristol. If you don't want to die, walk straight ahead and into the town. Someone there will find you."

Still dazed, and with all of the dignity of a child already forced to bear too much, she began to walk, her little legs trembling, and the tears already drying on her cheeks.

The adult Amelia sat up and looked at him, her face stricken.

"I remember," she whispered, her voice raspy from screaming. "I walked for hours."

As she spoke, the memory around them changed, and suddenly the younger Amelia was in another field, the light was growing dim, and exhaustion was etched across her face.

"I didn't know where I was. All I knew was my name."

Snape stared at her, his heart breaking, but his face betraying nothing.

"When it got dark, I made it to the first street."

Around them, night fell, and the little Amelia crawled into a road and lay beneath the glow of an orange streetlamp.

"I don't know how long I stayed there, too tired to carry on. But at some point, a woman found me."

In the memory, a middle-aged woman rushed to her side.

"Oh my god. Little girl?"  
She glanced around desperately.

"Little girl, can you hear me?"

Panicking, she scooped Amelia into her arms and ran to the nearest house.

"Please, you have to help me, I just found her like this…"

Snape watched her steadily.

"What happened to you afterwards?"

She shook her head slowly.

"She took me to a hospital. I waited for days for someone to come and get me, but no-one ever came. In the end, they sent me to social services. I stayed in foster homes all my life, moving every year or so."  
Her brow furrowed.

"The thing is, I knew I was fostered, but I never stopped to ask myself why. How could I not even think that it was strange?"

Snape sighed.

"Obliviate is a powerful spell. Not only does it remove memories, but the mind protects itself by avoiding anything that might trigger confusion, or a partial-remembrance of something long forgotten. You wouldn't have been able to consider it without sickness, so one day you will simply have stopped trying."

Amelia raised her hands to her head, and Snape felt a change in the magic around them.  
"Amelia?'

The ceiling above them creaked.

"Amelia? What are you doing?"

She sobbed.

"I can't… I can't…"

She curled in on herself, and memories began to fly past them on all sides, as though they were in the middle of a slipstream.

"Amelia, stop!"

He lurched towards her as memories began to press in on all sides; vicious beatings, days spent starving, waiting in the hospital, moving, moving, always moving somewhere new-

"Amy!"

He grabbed her arms as the desert wind began to blow, and chunks of the ceiling began to fall all around them.

"Amelia, look at me!"

She raised her head. Desperate brown eyes met the stricken black, and in an instant, he knew what she was going to do a split second before she did it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he reached for her just a fraction too late.

"Amy, don't-!"

A great wall of magic jerked him backwards, and he screamed her name as he felt himself falling, faster and faster. She receded from him in an instant; the pub collapsing, the wind roaring, memories swirling in the void like debris, and his mind in disarray as he was tossed and turned on the tide, desperately scrabbling, not for his anchor, but for her.

 _Amy, Amy, Amy._

He had to get back to her, he had to take her with him. But he was falling, and there was nothing to grab hold of, and _oh, Merlin_ , he was going to be trapped here forever as well. Forever falling, forever screaming her name. His mind rebelled and panic overwhelmed him. They were lost. He had failed. After everything they had done, he had failed her. They were lost.

 _AMY._

He felt consciousness slipping away from him. His mind was on fire. The mist was swirling into his mouth, his ears, his nose. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. All he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart, beating a counterpoint to the roar of the wind. His last thought as he felt another tug launching him further away from himself, was of Amy.

 _Forgive me._

And then he thought no more.

/…/

Uh oh – it's all gone wrong! What do you think?


	16. Stranger in a Strange Land

Chapter 16 – Stranger in a Strange Land

The first thing he became aware of was a deep ache that weighed down his body, stiffening his limbs and rendering him immobile. The second, was the rank dryness blanketing his mouth, as though he hadn't drank for days. And the third, was a vicious pounding in his head that made him screw up his eyes against the glare trying to seep beneath his eyelids.

He groaned, disorientated, and opened his eyes. The Hospital Wing. So he was safe, at least, but what in Merlin's name had happened to him? Methodically, simply because it was the only way he knew, Snape sorted through his mind. He didn't remember visiting with the Dark Lord, so that ruled out the Cruciatus Curse. Nor did he remember a particularly bad potions accident. Which left-

 _Amy._

He lurched into a sitting position, and immediately grunted in pain as a white-hot spike seemed to pierce right through his skull. Almost at once, the curtains around his bed were drawn back, and Madame Pomfrey let out a cry of delight and admonishment.

"Severus Snape, you lay back down this instant!"

Every word was like a knife through his eyes, and he dropped back feebly onto the pillows, holding up a hand in placation. But it wasn't enough.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you put us through, young man?"

 _Young man?_

He tried to croak out a scathing response, but his throat simply rasped and the coating in his mouth refused to obey his commands.

Poppy watched him with her hands on her hips, torn somewhere between amusement and concern.

"Would you like some water, Severus?" She asked mildly.  
He levelled his best _Obviously_ glare at her, but to his intense displeasure, she simply chuckled and held up a glass to his lips. He gulped the cold liquid down hungrily, swirling it into every corner of his mouth and relishing the resulting calm. When he'd drained the glass, he coughed heavily and turned the full force of his scowl upon the Healer.

"Where is she, witch?"

Poppy's face fell, and Snape felt his heart sink.

"Poppy," he warned dangerously. "I demand you tell me what happened to Ame-, to Miss Bristol, at _once_."

She sighed and sank into a chair at his side.

"Alright Severus, there's no need to snap."

"Poppy, I'm warning you…"

She held up her hands.

"She's alive, you incorrigible brat," she said, and Snape felt relief flood him too quickly to respond that he most certainly was not a brat, thank you very much. Nevertheless, something in her eyes set him on edge.

"But?" He questioned further.

"Hm?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Poppy," he growled. "There's something you're not telling me."

She didn't meet his gaze.

"I had hoped the Headmaster would be here to fill you in-"

"But as always the old coot is never where you need him to be. That, I'm sorry to say, is of no real surprise."

She frowned in reproach, but he was undeterred.

"Explain. _Now_."

A moment of indecision, and then her resolve broke.

"How much do you remember?" She asked.

Now that he was awake, he remembered entirely too much, in his opinion, but he knew that wasn't the answer she was looking for.

"She pushed me away," he hissed, feeling the betrayal afresh, and startled by how much it stung to say it out-loud.

Poppy nodded.

"Following Dumbledore's orders. We thought that's what had happened."

He frowned in confusion.

"Dumbledore's orders?"

"Don't you remember? He made her promise to keep you safe."

He drew in a sharp breath. He had forgotten. How could he have been so dim-witted? She'd been trying to protect him, not cast him aside after all!

"Meddling old fool," he growled.

Poppy smiled.

"He was only trying to-"

"I don't care what he was _trying_ to do, Poppy. I care about what actually happened, and if you don't finish telling me about it in the next five seconds, I swear to Circe I will-"

"Don't you use that tone of voice with me, Severus! I've dressed wounds on near enough every part of your body, and you will not speak to me like that again."

Blushing furiously, Snape clamped his lips together and glared.

"That's better," she said, settling herself more comfortably. "Now, as I was saying, after Amelia pushed you away, Dumbledore felt you disengage. Minerva and I, we were standing at his side when it happened, and in all my years here I've never seen the man move so quickly."

Snape watched her silently, a shade of guilt making itself known in his chest.

"She'd tried to push you away from her, you see, but it had gone wrong somehow. Instead of pushing you towards this world, she pushed you further into her own. Minerva had to anchor Dumbledore as he went in after you, and for a moment there we thought we'd lost all three of you."

She shuddered.

"All three of you, sitting there, staring as blankly as dead things at the walls. It is not a sight I ever want to see again."

He inclined his head, his mind racing, but urging her to continue all the same.

"Well, you soon flew back into your body, but you were half-dead when you did. I had to work on you for hours before you were stable enough to be left alone, and you've been unconscious these last two weeks-"

"Two _weeks_?" He spluttered. "I've been here for two weeks? Why didn't you tell me? The Dark Lord-"

"-Has been informed of your escapades, and believes you were only attempting to revive Amelia on Dumbledore's orders so as not to break cover."

Snape scoffed bitterly.

"If you think the Dark Lord will have been fooled by that utter codswallop-"

" _Severus Snape_! I have told you I will not be spoken to in that manner!"

He clenched his jaw furiously, and she glared back at him just as forcefully.

" _As I was saying_ , Dumbledore arranged it so that Draco overheard a conversation between himself and Minerva, in which he lamented forcing you to make the choice. Of course, Draco immediately owled his father, and the news infiltrated You-Know-Who's inner circle that same night. He will not be expecting you until you are good and ready to return, of that much you can rest assured."

Snape relaxed back against the pillows. Perhaps the old fool wasn't as short-sighted as he'd feared after all.

"I concede that may have sufficed," he bit out grudgingly. "Please continue."

She huffed at him, but straightened her apron none-the-less.

"Well, after you were brought out, I had to rush off to deal with you. By the time I got back, Amelia was sitting up in bed, fully conscious, being spoken to by Professor Dumbledore."

Her brow furrowed.

"But?" He pressed, dangerously close to losing her temper.

"But, I can't say for sure whether or not she's made a full recovery," Poppy admitted, after a lengthy pause.

"And just why can't you be sure whether or not she's made a fully recovery?" He enquired, dangerously softly. To his surprise, Poppy threw up her hands and began to pace.

"Because she's _changed_ , Severus. I don't know how else to explain it. The woman that went into that coma isn't the same one that came out of it. She's… Different. Oh, her wand works well now, it's true, and she's attending private tutoring and by all accounts, excelling in each of her subjects, but something's not right. She won't smile, for one thing, and she's taken to spending all of her time outside of classes either down by the lake, holed up in her quarters, or wandering around the grounds to Merlin knows where. And…"

She trailed off, casting a nervous glance in his direction.

"And?" He prodded, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"And…"

She hesitated.

"Poppy!"

"And-she-hasn't-been-to-visit-you-once!" The Medi-witch blurted out in a rush, and then immediately clapped her hands over her mouth as though surprised at her own daring.

Silence. He felt as though she'd slapped him, but nothing of his emotions were betrayed on his face.

"I see," was all he said icily. "Well, if that's all, perhaps we can assume the witch has finally come to her senses and decided she's better off not being associated with the Bat of the Dungeons."

Poppy's expression turned to one of sympathy in an instant.

"No! Severus, I'm sure-"

"If that's everything, Poppy? I do find I'm really quite tired after all."

He made to roll over, but she stepped towards him just as quickly.

"Severus-"

"I said _enough_ , Poppy," he insisted wearily. "Enough."

She considered him for a moment. He felt her presence even though he had turned his back to her, and fervently wished for her to leave, counting in his head all the while.

 _5… 4… 3… 2… 1…_

Mercifully, as he reached zero, she walked away, drew the curtains back around his bed, and left him to his thoughts. In the privacy of his Hospital cocoon, and with a silencing spell cast around his bed for good measure, he gave in to the maelstrom of emotions cascading through his chest. For the first time since the night Lily Potter had died and he had pledged himself to the protection of her son, Severus Snape lay alone, and felt the true, gaping horror of his own intractable loneliness.

/…/

Down by the lake, her tiny black owl alighted at Amelia's side, and she gifted him with a rare, sad smile.

"Hey Solomon," she said softly. "What's that you've got for me?"

He hooted at her and held out his leg. She untied the letter and unrolled the parchment, with fingers that hadn't stopped shaking since she'd woken in the Hospital Wing two weeks ago. She didn't recognise the handwriting, but the message was clear, and tears pricked at her eyes as she read:

 _He's awake. He misses you. Won't you come and visit?_

Suddenly flooded with anger, she crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it into the water. Solomon took off with a hoot of displeasure at her sudden outburst, and flew onto a low-hanging tree branch nearby, where he preened his feathers and watched her suspiciously.

"I can't," she choked out at him beseechingly, as though he were the one that had written the note. "Why can't anyone understand that?"

First, Dumbledore had entreated her to sit by his bedside, and she'd vehemently protested, saying quite clearly that he wouldn't want her there. Then, Hermione had tried to get her to talk about why she suddenly didn't want to see the surly Potions Master, and she'd snapped at her as well. Finally, even Ron had attempted to push her in his direction, and after a screaming row with Harry, during which she couldn't shake the absurdity that she was yelling at a teenager like – well, like she was a teenager, too – she'd isolated herself from them all. And now Poppy, she guessed, had seen fit to get involved as well.

Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

"It's not that I don't want to see him," she said tearfully to her owl. "But every time I think about him I think about what happened. Every time I see him in that bed I remember it's my fault he's there, and that, and that…"

Her sobs overwhelmed her, and Solomon flew down to sit on her knee and nip worriedly at her hair. She raised a hand and stroked the owl gratefully, unable to shake the hollow feeling that had settled in her chest since her memories had been returned to her. Gulping in air to calm herself down, she scrubbed unhappily at her eyes.

"I hate this," she whispered. "I hate being this pathetic. I hate knowing what happened to me. I just want to go back to the person I was before. And I _do_ want to go see him. I just… I can't face the way he'll look at me, full of pity and…. And shame. I already feel ashamed. I wish he'd never seen. I wish I could pretend I was still the same but I'm not."

She sighed, and wiped the last of the tears from her face.

"I feel like a stranger, Solomon," she confided in him softly. "I don't recognise myself anymore, and I don't feel like I belong here. Sometimes, I want to go back to the Muggle world and just forget that all this ever happened to me. But how can I? And how can I be a friend to Severus if I can't even keep myself together?"

The owl hooted at her sadly, and she ran a finger over his feathers absent-mindedly.

"It would be best for him if he didn't get too close to me. I've taken up all of his time since I got here already. I've nearly _killed_ him twice, first in the fire, and now with this. And I still don't have the first clue who I actually am. I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure. He doesn't need that on his plate along with everything else. No-one does. At least not now, anyway."

Satisfied with her decision, she felt some of the tension leave her body, but as she sat with her owl, and her deepening loneliness, she didn't notice the green eyes watching her with concern from the treeline. Harry Potter had heard everything, and although at that moment he didn't know exactly what he would do, he knew he had to do something.

/…/

A quicker update than usual! What does everyone think so far?


	17. Losing Control

It's so lovely reading your reviews, and I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying the story! Focusing a little more on Harry and Snape this chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 17 – Losing Control

Following Amelia's revelations down by the lake, Harry felt as though he'd found a kindred spirit, and although he didn't think that kindred spirt should be associating with Professor Snape – at all – he recognised loneliness and alienation when he saw it. He'd spent most of his life isolated from the world in one way or another, and never more so than during the months since Cedric Diggory had died at his feet.

If Amelia was feeling the same way, then he knew he had to help her, but how? After speaking to Ron and Hermione, who, he noted angrily, were still treating him with kid gloves, he crawled into his bunk and drew the curtains, wondering whether his newest line of thought meant he really had gone mad. After all, surely only madness could be the reason he'd be thinking about voluntarily seeking out _Snape_? But for reasons Harry didn't fully understand, Amelia had grown closer to him than to anyone else so far, and if she was as adrift as she'd sounded, then she would need a real friend to bring her back out of it again.

As he drifted off into sleep, he hardened his resolve. The next day, he would seek out the greasy git himself, and try to explain to him what he'd witnessed.

Unfortunately, it was that night that Arthur Weasley was attacked by the snake, and Harry woke up screaming.

/…/

 _Merlin save me from Harry-bloody-Potter,_ Snape thought viciously, as he swept down the midnight hallways towards Dumbledore's office. He had been summoned because the boy had had a nightmare, and after only being discharged under severe threat by Madame Pomfrey a few hours earlier, he had been looking forward to crawling into his own bed, and falling into a deep sleep aided by copious amounts of Firewhiskey.

Now, his emotions were carefully occluded, but he hadn't managed to shake the deep, painful resignation that had startled him so horribly when Poppy had told him that Amelia wasn't coming. Anger, he might have expected. Bitterness, hatred, indignation, derision – all of these emotions he was equipped to deal with. But this self-pitying resignation, coupled with the unshakeable belief that no-one, really, could ever truly care for him after all – that had taken him by surprise.

As he emerged in front of the stone gargoyle, he shook these thoughts from his mind and squared his shoulders. There would be time for self-reproach later. Breathing deeply as he ascended the stairs, he locked the last of his sadness behind the walls of his mind, and swiftly entered the room.

The first thing he noticed, was that the great Harry Potter was a shivering mess. The second, was that the Weasley children, looking no less stricken, were also in the room. And the third, was that it took a great deal of guts to yell at the Headmaster, and that was exactly what Potter was doing. What in Merlin's name was going on?

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" He said silkily, earning himself a look of pure fear from the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Oh yes, Severus. I'm afraid we can't wait, not even until morning. Otherwise, we'll all be in danger."

So it was, that at 4am, having had precisely no sleep, and with every bone in his body still aching, Severus Snape found himself towing a struggling teenage boy down the corridors to his own private quarters.

"Stand over there," he barked at the boy, striding over to his reading desk and bringing out his wand.

"Professor," Harry gasped, still shivering. "What's happening to me?"

The question brought him up short, and he observed the quivering student with an unfamiliar pang of unease and – could it be? - sympathy. If what Dumbledore said was true, then Potter had glimpsed the inner-workings of the Dark Lord's thoughts, and he hardly dared to think about the kind of trauma _that_ would put a young mind under.

"It appears there is a connection between the Dark Lord's mind and your own," he informed him. "Whether he is - as yet - aware of it remains to be seen. Let us hope that he remains ignorant."

The Potter brat frowned, considering, and he was struck not for the first time, by the uncanny mannerisms he seemed to have inherited from his mother.

"You mean, if he was aware of it, he could read my mind?" He asked at last.

"Read it. Control it. Unhinge it."

He was gratified to see fear creep like a cloud across the boy's face.

"In the past, it was often the Dark Lord's pleasure to invade the minds of his victims, creating visions designed to torture them into madness."

Potter, to his intense satisfaction, paled still further.

"Only after extracting the last exquisite ounce of agony, only when he had them literally begging for death, would he finally kill them."

The boy looked faintly nauseous. Good. At least he was getting through to him for once. He advanced slowly, his wand raised.

"Used properly the power of Occlumency will help shield you from access or influence. In these lessons, I will attempt to penetrate your mind, you will attempt to resist me. Prepare yourself."  
The boy looked at him blankly. Fool. So like his father.

" _Legilimens_!"

Potter grunted and screwed up his face in pain, and Snape was immediately assaulted by the garbled, incoherent images of a mind so disordered, he could barely sort through the memories as quickly as they passed.

"Concentrate, Potter!" He growled. "Focus!"

The images slowed, but he felt no attempt to eject him from Potter's mind. He pushed further.

 _The Granger girl, wrapping her arms around Potter._

 _A huge lump of a Muggle, taunting him._

He felt Potter's indignation as that memory rose to the surface, and pursued it further.

 _"Where is your mum, Potter?" The Muggle laughed. "Is she dead?"_

For a moment, Snape felt both his own grief at Lily's passing and the stranger, somehow more raw grief of the boy in front of him. He held onto the memory, analysing Potter's pain alongside his own – a boy without a mother, and his… No, impossible! _Guilt_ for her death? He pulled back at once, startled, and suddenly found himself staring into the furious green eyes of his once-closest friend, set into the face of his once-cruellest bully. The effect was disturbing.

"That was private!" Potter raged.

He gathered himself quickly.

"Not, to me," he sneered, his mask firmly in place. "And not to the Dark Lord if you don't improve."

Potter scowled angrily.

"Prepare yourself. _Legilimens_!"

He dove back in.

 _A smaller, skinnier Potter, scrubbing the dishes in a Muggle house._

Snape sneered.

 _A huge oaf of a man, his face purple with rage, bearing down on a Potter that couldn't have been more than four or five._

" _There's no such thing as magic!"_

Spittle flew from the Muggle's mouth, and Snape felt the childish fear and confusion of the young boy.

" _I'm sorry, Uncle, I didn't mean to!"_

" _You know what you are, boy? You're a freak!"_

 _The small boy, tossed into a cupboard under the stairs._

Snape's eyes widened in shock. No - Potter was spoiled! Just like his father! Wasn't he? Again, he zeroed in on the memory, even as he felt Potter's mind finally put up a struggle to throw him out.

 _The small boy, kept in the dark, so little room to move. Broken toys littered around the blankets on the floor. Fear, confusion, pain – hunger? – the boy was starving!_

Suddenly, he pushed too far, and he felt the emotions as though they were his own.

 _Why won't anyone come? Why don't they love me? Why does Dudley get everything and I get nothing? Where is my mum? Mum? MUM!_

With a cry, Potter's mind finally put up a fight, and Snape found himself launched out of the maelstrom of childish fears, and stagger back two steps across the room.

"ENOUGH!" Potter shouted, finally getting to his feet, his wand in his hand. "Did that make you happy?"

Snape stared into the furious boy's face, for once at a loss for words.

"Does it make you happy to know how the _famous Harry Potter_ lived before Hagrid came and took me away?"

He opened his mouth, ready to rebuke the boy for his tone of voice, but for some reason, the words died on his tongue.

"Is that what you wanted to find out?" Potter continued, taking an angry step forward, his wand still raised. "Well, no need for the theatrics, _Professor_. I'll tell you whatever you want! It's not like I've ever had any kind of privacy, is it?"

Just as Snape found his senses again, Potter seemed to run out of steam, and he slumped bonelessly back into the chair, his head hung like a child far younger than his years. Schooling his face into its customary sneer, Snape attempted to regain a semblance of control, and lowered his voice dangerously.

"Are you quite finished, Mr Potter?"

The boy raised his eyes, his expression defiant, but his mouth clamped firmly shut.

"It may shock you to learn that unlike the rest of the fawning sycophants in this castle, I have absolutely no interest in the minutiae of your - frankly pathetic - personal life," Snape sneered. "However, if my glimpsing these shadows from your past causes you to lose control so spectacularly, how do you think you'll feel when the Dark Lord picks his way through the same?"

Thankfully, the Potter boy paled and kept silent, which was good, because Snape had no desire to examine the feelings of revulsion and protectiveness that had surged inside him, upon witnessing the abuse Potter had suffered as a child.

"A wise choice, Mr Potter," he hissed. "Although you are to be congratulated on your successful efforts to throw me from your thoughts, you must not rely purely on emotion to do so. The Dark Lord will not be so easily removed."

He was gratified to see Potter draw in a deep breath, and not a little impressed that he squared his shoulders to face him.

"Fine," the boy bit out, and before he could say anything else, Snape was ready.

" _Legilimens_!"

 _A younger Potter, walking through the Entrance Hall doors for the first time._

 _I may vomit,_ Snape thought, unkindly.

 _Potter in first year, facing off against Malfoy in the air._

" _Give it here Malfoy!" Potter yelled. "Or I'll knock you off your broom!"_

The Professor mentally rolled his eyes.

 _Quirrel, removing his turban…_

Snape held Potter in the memory, curious in spite of himself.

 _The fabric fell back, to reveal the warped and twisted face of the Dark Lord, leering out of the back of Quirrel's head._

Snape felt a frisson of disgust, and then realised with a jolt that the memory of the Dark Lord had set off a spiral in Potter's mind. More images were flashing past and Snape struggled to keep up.

 _A young Tom Riddle, standing over the cold body of Ginny Weasley._

Snape was struck by how small Potter looked, facing down the older boy.

 _Pettigrew, shrinking to the form of a rat in the moonlight, while his own unconscious body floated nearby._

He felt Potter's fear alongside his own flare of anger.

 _Potter, swimming through an eerily lit lake, flanked by Merpeople. The light made everything warp and sway._

 _Potter striding through the Triwizard maze, wand held tightly in his hand._

The boy's fear slid like a knife into his chest, but he pushed on despite the protest he could feel gathering in Potter's mind.

 _Cedric and Harry, battling the Acromantula._

" _CEDRIC, ON YOUR LEFT!" Harry bellowed, and Diggory dived out of the way._

Fascinated, Snape pursued the memory further, even as he felt Potter's garbled horror clamouring at him to retreat.

 _The spells bounced uselessly off the giant spider's hide, and then it hoisted Potter by the leg into the air. Spells from Diggory knocked it back, and Potter's leg crunched beneath him as he fell._

Snape winced inwardly as Potter's leg snapped, and then:

 _STUPEFY!_

 _Two voices, two spells colliding beneath the creature, and it rolled into itself and curled up, stunned._

Snape hesitated as Harry's struggle to throw him out intensified, and he was shocked to feel _shame_ emanating from the boy. What could he possibly have to be ashamed of? And then he saw it:

" _You saved me, it's yours, take it!" Cedric said, and he watched Potter stare hungrily at the cup, before –_

" _Together."_

" _What?"_

" _It's still a Hogwarts victory, isn't it? We'll take it together!"_

 _Cedric's face lit up._

" _3… 2… 1…"_

 _They grabbed the cup, and then the memory jumped._

 _The boys were standing in a graveyard, and Potter cried out in pain and dropped to the ground, his hand held to his head._

" _Get back to the cup!" He tried to shout to Cedric, but then a high, cold voice that sent shivers down Snape's spine rent the air._

" _Kill the spare."_

 _Potter screamed again as Cedric dropped dead at his feet._

In Snape's quarters, Potter launched himself out of his chair, and Snape was ejected from the memory with a sudden rush of force. But this time there was no more screaming. Potter was shaking, drenched in sweat, his fists screwed up and held over his eyes as though hiding himself from his Professor.

Uncharacteristically shaken, Snape gave the boy a moment to collect himself while he observed him thoughtfully. Now that he saw it first-hand, even he had to admit that Potter had been through a lot.

 _Most of it his own foolish fault though_ , he reminded himself with a sneer. But still.

At that moment, Potter drew a deep breath in and raised his eyes defiantly.

"Seen enough, _Professor_? Still think I'm a child now?"

Snape sneered and strode towards him.

"Spare me your self-pity, Potter," he snarled, taking refuge in familiar habits. "If you think I'm impressed by your resilience, or shocked by what you've seen, then you're even more intellectually challenged than I thought."

Potter's expression grew outraged.

"You can't be serious!"

Snape spun towards him, slamming his hands on either side of the chair and pinning him in place, his face mere inches away.

"Oh, I am deadly serious, Mr Potter," he hissed softly. "Do you think you're the only one in this room to have stood in the presence of the Dark Lord? Do you believe you're the only one to witness friends die? Do you think you're the only one to have been tortured?"

Potter shook his head vociferously.

"You know that's not what I meant-"

"No? Then what did you mean, Mr Potter?"

The boy glared at him, and he straightened up to his full height and sneered.

"You meant to say that you are not a child, that you deserve respect, that I am being unfairly harsh, did you not?"

Silence, but he thought he saw a glimmer of ascent in the boy's eyes. He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And do you know what that tells me, Potter? It tells me that you are still a child, that you do not understand how hard it is to earn respect, or how quickly it can be lost, and that you haven't got a single clue about the kind of people who are even now plotting to kill you. Let me ask you this: if you think _I_ am harsh, what do you think the Dark Lord, or his true followers, will be like?"

"I know what they're like!" The boy spat, and Snape felt his temper flare.

"No, Mr Potter, you do not," he hissed, rounding on him dangerously. "You have seen only mere glimpses of what the Death Eaters are capable of. If you think you have tasted pain or loss before now then you are in for the cruellest of shocks. As the Muggles are fond of saying, you haven't seen anything yet. Believe me when I say that _I know_ , and you, you silly little boy, don't have the first idea."

At this, Potter leapt to his feet, his face twisted in fury.

"And is that why you're the way you are?" He yelled, for once catching Snape off-guard. "Is that what's turned you into this heartless, cruel, vindictive man that everybody hates?"

Snape was so shocked at the boy's gall, he could only stand and stare as Potter shouted.

"They do, you know! Everyone hates you! And do you know why? Because you're just as bad as the Death Eaters, even if you are Dumbledore's spy."

Snape recovered himself, and lowered his voice dangerously.

"Indeed?" He growled.

"Yeah. Want to know why?" The boy looked shocked at his own daring, but pressed on.

"Please, Mr Potter," he snarled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do _amaze_ me with your insight."

"Because you _enjoy_ making people feel bad. You sneer at everyone you pass. You bully 11-year-old children for sport and you enjoy it. You're just the same as every Death Eater – picking on people weaker than you, taking pleasure in their pain. No, you might not use Crucio, but the pain you cause people is still real. And that's why everyone hates you, because _you are hateful_!"

Snape smiled grimly, but inside his anger had reached a frightening intensity, and he was fighting hard to stay in control of his actions, lest he end up doing permanent damage to the Boy-Who-Lived and being sent directly to Azkaban. But Potter seemed wholly incapable of stemming the flow of words as they left his mouth, and Snape found himself morbidly curious to see just how far Dumbledore's pet would push his luck.

"I can't believe I ever thought about coming to you for help," the boy said, suddenly quiet, and in spite of himself, Snape was intrigued.

"And what, pray tell, would you possibly seek out my help for, Potter?"

But the boy only scowled at him, and then in a fit of bravado, flashed the kind of cruel grin he was more used to seeing from Draco.

"I thought you'd like to know why Lia doesn't want to see you anymore, but if all you're going to do is root around in my head like some overgrown bat, then I guess you can figure it out on your own. It's not like she isn't better off without you, anyway."

In a single instant, Potter seemed to realise what he'd said, at the same moment Snape's anger crystallised into a white-hot haze of voiceless fury. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd pointed his wand at the boy, and a wordless blasting curse sent the Chosen One leaping towards the wall.

"How dare you speak to me like that," Snape hissed, advancing towards the now pale-faced teenager as he stuttered apologies and scrambled for his own wand. The rational part of his mind counselled that this was illegal, immoral, and would more than likely see him both fired and arrested, but as he sent a stupefy towards the boy, his thoughts had left the realm of rationality far behind. All he could think about were his own thwarted hopes for friendship, and the knowledge that James Potter's son not only enjoyed the friendship of the woman he coveted, but that he had dared to mock him because of it.

Luckily, with the primed reflexes of a Seeker, Potter sent up a shield spell to deflect Snape's stunner, and the jet of red light rebounded and ricocheted into the mirror hanging above his fireplace, shattering it. The sound of exploding glass hitting the flagstone floor of his living room jolted Snape into awareness, and as the cloud of his anger receded, he found himself facing off against a panicked teenage boy screaming STOP! as loud as he possibly could.

Silence descended. They stared at each other, Snape breathing heavily through his nose, and Potter looking for all intents and purposes, as though he'd be happy for the ground to swallow him whole. Finally, he drew a breath.

"Get out," he growled at the boy. "Before I change my mind."

Potter didn't need telling twice. As though Voldemort himself were on his heels, he darted past his irate Potions Master, and fled from the room.

As he left, Snape's anger drained away like air released from a balloon, and was replaced by a gnawing sense of deepening shame.

 _Oh, Merlin. What have I done?_

/…/

You'll notice some of Harry and Snape's exchange is taken from the Order of the Phoenix film – just a note that I do not own it etc. etc.!

Shouldn't be too long until the next update – what do you think so far?


	18. Consequences

Chapter 18 – Consequences

In the moments after Potter fled from his sight, a number of thoughts struck Snape as though there were spells going off in his head.

 _He'd attacked a student._

 _He'd attacked Dumbledore's pet student._

 _Potter knew something about Amelia that he didn't._

 _He had to find out what it was._

Turning on his heel, he left the room in a billow of black robes. If he was quick, he could reach Potter before anyone else heard about what had just happened, and he'd be able to fix it. He _had_ to be able to fix it.

/…/

It was just gone 5am, and the sun was coming up over the Hogwarts grounds, tinging the air with gold and grey. From her position at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Amelia watched it through dull eyes ringed with dark circles. She hadn't slept properly in days, and since the note from Poppy she'd had even more trouble drifting off than usual.

Since Snape had invaded her mind and unlocked her memories, she'd taken to wandering the corridors during the silent hours of the early morning, often pausing outside the Hospital Wing where he lay comatose, but never actually going inside. Now that he'd been released and was, presumably, recovering in his own quarters, her feet had carried her here, to stand alone with her thoughts in the first light of the day.

She sighed, feeling the cold air wash over her skin, but hardly noticing that she was shivering. She knew she was being unfair in not seeking out the surly Potions Master. He'd done so much for her, and she had been starting to think that maybe there was something between them. She knew enough about him to know that he would take any rejection or wound to his pride badly, and she hated the thought of abandoning him when it had taken her so many weeks of brewing together to get him to open up to her.

But she couldn't change the fact that being around him made her feel vulnerable, and far, far too exposed. He'd seen parts of her life she hadn't even known about. He'd watched her tortured, seen her shame, and being around him now made her feel like she was naked.

But he had helped her. And, underneath all of the gruffness, and the snide comments, she knew he was a good person. More than that, she knew that he was desperate for someone – anyone – to care for him. And she did, after all, care for him. Didn't she?

Scrubbing at her tired, aching eyes, she resolved to go back to her rooms, and after a few hours of sleep, she would seek him out. He deserved that much from her, after all.

/…/

Harry Potter was tearing through the castle fuelled by pure, unadulterated fear. He had only one thought, and that was to get as far away from his Professor as was humanly possible. Gulping in air, his legs burning, he pounded down the corridors, the sight of Snape's coal black eyes, burning with a fury he wouldn't have thought possible, still replaying itself in his mind.

 _He'd attacked him._

Somewhere in his jumbled thoughts, Harry knew he'd pushed him too far, but the out-of-control rage on Snape's face as he'd sent the blasting curse through the air towards him, would stay with him forever.

 _He could have killed me._

To his intense shame, tears burnt in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked them away furiously and carried on running, not caring where he was going, only that he kept on moving. Sniffing and trembling, he pushed himself to run still quicker, the sound of his footsteps echoing back at him, as he turned a corner and-

"ARGH!" A voice cried out as he ran into something solid, and tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

/…/

Amelia yelled as a bundle of teenage boy barrelled her into the floor, and instantly both of them were on their feet, wands in hand and ready to defend. But then she caught sight of the quivering mess that was a crying Harry Potter, and she dropped her arm to her side.

"Harry?" She asked tentatively, and he scrubbed at his eyes furiously. "Harry, what's wrong?"

And then something broke in the hurting green eyes, and he slid to the ground, sobbing.

She knelt beside him and pulled him into her arms, and the poor boy clung to her as though he were drowning. She shushed him gently, smoothing his hair back from his head, and alarmed at just how much he was shaking, and how desperately he buried his face in her neck.

"Harry," she whispered softly. "Talk to me. What happened?"

He shuddered, and then choked out a single word.

"Snape."

/…/

A few minutes later, the Professor in question was striding through the halls, looking for the Potter brat. If he knew Potter – and after all these years of babysitting, he certainly did – he wouldn't have gone straight back to Gryffindor tower.

 _No, he'd wander the castle after curfew and get himself into even more trouble,_ his inner-voice sneered.

But even with his hatred of the boy as a shield, he couldn't stop replaying the terrified look on his face as the blasting curse had flown past him, and contrary to what most of his students seemed to think, the Bat of the Dungeons did have feelings. He should never have let his temper get the better of him.

He was perfectly happy terrifying students, Potter was right. He enjoyed seeing them turn white as a sheet as he approached, and the sense of power and control their reactions gave him in a world in which he actually had neither, was something he revelled in. But he knew what it was like to be beaten by an adult, and he'd vowed long ago never to lash out in anger. No matter how annoying the little dunderheads were.

When he caught up to Potter he'd explain that to him. Even if the thought of sharing anything with the ungrateful little brat _did_ make him want to blast holes in the castle. This time, even he would admit, he owed the boy an apology.

 _But where in Merlin's name is he?_

Just as he finally decided that Potter must have ran in the other direction, a choked, sobbing noise sounded up ahead. He winced, and felt a great wave of shame engulf him.

 _Potter_.

He hadn't actually meant to hurt the boy. Cursing himself for a fool, he strode in the direction of the noise, a harsh word on the tip of his tongue, and a vague plan to rebuke the boy into regaining his senses before towing him back down to the dungeons to apologise properly - before he swept around the corner, and felt horror rise in his chest.

Sitting on the floor, and cradling the boy as though he were a child, was Amelia. As he stepped into view, she raised her eyes to meet his, and he felt his face flush with guilt. Potter's head was still held protectively against her chest as his sobs shook his body, and Snape felt a desperate, yearning grief as he observed how tenderly she ran her fingers through his hair, and how gently she held him against her. Before he could stop the thought, it came:

 _I wish that were me._

In that moment, he truly and completely hated himself, with a depth of passion that took his breath away. If he had been a lesser man, he would have turned and fled from the sight – the image of his greatest enemy's child being held in a way that he never had been, but had always longed for. But as his eyes met Amelia's and he felt the full weight of his own desperation, he found himself rooted to the spot and unable to turn away.

"Severus?" She asked softly, and the effect was instantaneous. Potter stiffened in her arms, his sobbing stopped, and Snape could almost see the tension rolling off him in waves. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - to excuse himself and make her stop looking at him as though she'd never really seen him before, but as he stared back at her mutely, the words wouldn't come.

Slowly, she released Potter and got to her feet, shielding the boy behind her in a move that made his heart ache.

"Severus?" She whispered. "What did you do?"

A movement to his left made all three of them look around, and the sound of a girlish cough stiffened every muscle in his body.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Umbridge simpered, stepping out of the shadows. "What _has_ been happening here?"

/…/

For once, Severus was silent in the face of the Headmaster. The man's overwhelming anger and disappointment in him were palpable, and if it weren't for the fact Umbridge was still in the room and determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, he knew that those blue eyes would pierce him to his soul.

As it was, they'd been there for half an hour, Potter standing against Amelia, who kept a protective arm around the boy which hurt him to his core, Dumbledore becoming sterner and sterner, and Umbridge growing in her impatience.

"Do you take me for a fool, Dumbledore?" The toad spat, and in another situation, Snape would have snapped that yes, he did, because that was exactly what she was. But somehow, the snide comments didn't seem quite so entertaining anymore.

What made it worse, was that Potter had covered for him, at least to Umbridge's face. In a feat of quick-thinking Snape would never have expected from the Boy-Who-Lived, he had told Dumbledore that Snape had been tutoring him in potions and an accident had given him a fright. Of course, on closer inspection, the lie didn't hold up – why would they have been practicing in the early hours of the morning? And why was Potter in his pyjamas? – but the commitment to shielding him from scrutiny by the Ministry came through loud and clear.

And then of course, there was Amelia. She hadn't left Potter's side since they'd entered the room, and every now and then he'd meet her eyes, shining with disappointment and hurt, and his own self-hatred would bubble like sickness in his stomach. Now, however, it seemed the little charade was coming to an end.

"I'm warning you, Dumbledore!" Umbridge said. "If you don't tell me what's going on here this instant, I will have to inform Cornelius!"

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles and sighed.

"I'm afraid, Dolores, that you are seeking a mystery where there is none. Professor Snape and Miss Bristol have been tutoring Mr Potter for Potions class, due to his desire to become an Auror. As I'm sure you can appreciate, his friends in Gryffindor may have taken unkindly to his choice to take extra lessons with the head of Slytherin house, and so Mr Potter must wait for them to fall asleep before embarking on his lessons. There really is nothing to be concerned about. Merely an experiment that got out of hand."

At this, Dumbledore's blue eyes met the obsidian black, and Snape wished fervently that he had never been born.

A moment passed, during which Umbridge looked between the three of them with increasing frustration, and then her face broke out into a disturbingly forced smile.

"No matter," she simpered. "If you insist on keeping your secrets, then I really must inform the Minister. Cornelius will be very interested to hear about this new… _Development_."

And, with another burst of her girlish cough, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher bustled self-importantly from the room, leaving them alone.

For the first time in his life, Snape wished that she'd stayed. Only his own stubborn pride kept him from dropping his eyes to the floor as Dumbledore turned to face him, and without the mastery of Occlumency to keep his face impassive, he was certain that he would have broken as he caught sight of the look on Amelia's face.

"Severus," Dumbledore rumbled, and he could feel power radiating from him in waves. "Explain yourself."

He drew a deep breath in, terrified that his voice would shake.

"Headmaster," he began, his voice steady and strong. "I have no explanation for you. I lost my temper, and allowed my anger to blind me. I…"

He swallowed hard.

"I sent a blasting curse at Mr Potter-" He heard Amelia gasp, and Dumbledore's lips drew into a thin line. "Which, thankfully, missed. But I have no excuse for what I did. It was unacceptable. And…"

He drew another breath in, disgusted by what he knew he had to say.

"And I would like to offer my unreserved apologies to Mr Potter, and hope that he has not been unduly harmed."

Silence met this last, and he peered from behind his hair, to where Potter was staring at him open-mouthed, and Amelia was blinking through tears.

"Well?" Dumbledore said. "Is that acceptable to you, Harry?"

Snape kept his eyes fixed straight ahead in the moments that followed, and after an interminably long pause, the boy spoke.

"Yes, s- sir," he answered. "I… I pushed Professor Snape on purpose, and-"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore cut him off gently. "Professor Snape is an adult, and a teacher at this school. There is no excuse for his behaviour. However, I don't believe that it will be repeated."

Snape recognised the implied warning, and inclined his head.

"No, Headmaster," he agreed.

Dumbledore nodded, anger in every line of his face.

"Miss Bristol? Might I ask you to escort Mr Potter back to his dormitory? I would like to speak to Severus in private."

As they left, neither Potter or Amelia looked at him, and Severus felt a new crack appear in his already-beaten heart, as he turned his back to them, and faced the furious gaze of his second Master.

/…/

This was a difficult chapter to write because it jumped around so much, but I'm quite pleased with how it came out! What do you think?


	19. Friends Like These

Chapter 19 – Friends Like These

As the door clicked shut, Dumbledore's face grew stern and hard, and Severus braced himself for the onslaught.

"Never did I think to see the day when you would attack a student," Dumbledore began, his voice deep with anger. "And to attack _Harry_ , a boy who more than any, needs to have your trust, particularly during lessons of such a delicate nature. It's unconscionable, and I'm sure you know it. _Why_ , Severus? Why did you do it?"

He swallowed hard and averted his eyes.

"I don't know," he said at last, the lie sticking in his throat like sickness.

Silence. The room seemed heavy with the lack of sound. He fought with himself internally, and then forced his gaze to travel to the Headmaster, who was observing him with such piercing disappointment that he felt his legs grow weak. He cleared his throat.

"I told you, Albus, there are no excuses. I have none. I lost control. I didn't mean to send the blasting curse. I wasn't even thinking of anything at the time."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Are you telling me you performed uncontrolled magic? You? At your age?"

Snape dipped his head, embarrassed. Uncontrolled magic was the preserve of children – not of spies. And certainly not from him.

"Why, whatever caused it?"

"The boy said…" He stopped and tried again. "The boy said that Miss Bristol was-"

He shook his head, and raised pleading eyes to meet Dumbledore's disbelieving blue.

 _Please don't make me say it._

"Ah." The Headmaster said, and then paused. "I think perhaps then, I owe you an apology."

It was Snape's turn to splutter in shock.

"I beg your pardon?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"When Miss Bristol first arrived here you told me it would be dangerous for you to become close to her. I must confess, I believed you were being unfairly harsh with yourself, but I see now that you were right. It has caused you little else but danger to be friendly with Miss Bristol, and I'm afraid I must insist, in light of your unacceptable behaviour, that you not spend time with her anymore."

Severus felt as though all the air had left the room. Yes, he'd said it would be dangerous, and he'd been proven right, but somehow hearing the Headmaster speak the same words out-loud hurt. It put a finality on his tenuous friendship with Amelia that he hadn't prepared himself for. Of course, when Amelia first arrived it was easy to imagine his life without her – he'd lived his entire life alone, after all – but now?

To his growing shame, he felt the sense of loss pierce him cruelly. He didn't want to go back to being alone. Was this really all his life could be? But of course, even without Dumbledore's words, his friendship was all but over. Perhaps it was over from the moment he decided to unlock her memories, but even if it wasn't, it had ended the moment Potter ran crying into her arms.

He squared his shoulders and sneered, his mask firmly in place.

"I'm sure your warning is unnecessary, Headmaster," he said. "Miss Bristol has already decided to terminate the friendship, and I have no desire to pursue it further."

Dumbledore observed him over his half-moon glasses.

"See that you don't, Severus."

And Snape felt the walls around his heart close around him once again.

/…/

Harry and Amelia walked back through the still-sleeping corridors in a silence that would have been awkward, were it not for the fact she kept a protective arm around the boy that he was all too happy to lean into. In the gentle quiet, both were thinking about the same man, but in vastly different ways.

Harry, because he felt slightly guilty for how he'd taunted the Potions Master, even though the man had terrified him. And Amelia, because she felt as though she'd glimpsed a side to Severus that she hadn't realised was there, and was even now considering that it might be in her best interests to distance herself from him as much as she could. Could it be that he wasn't the person she'd thought he was after all?

Gryffindor Tower arrived all too soon, with both of them lost in thought, so when the Fat Lady asked for the password, they both jumped in surprise.

"Oh," said Harry, awkwardly. "I guess this is me."

She smiled at him.

"You sure you're ok?"

He nodded, embarrassed.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me. I'm not normally…"

"A mess?"

He laughed.

"No, I think I'm always a mess."

"Just not like that."

"Right."

She grinned, and then her smile softened.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Harry. Sev-, Professor Snape had no right to do what he did to you. He's an adult, and an imposing adult at that. There's no shame in being frightened when it's justified."

He smiled gratefully at her.

"Thank you," he said in a small voice, and then opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else, before changing his mind and looking away.

"Harry?"

He met her eye briefly.

"I just…"

He paused, clearly struggling.

"You just what?" She asked gently.

"I don't feel like anyone understands."

"About what you're going through?"

He nodded, a pleading look in his eyes.

"The thing is, Harry, for you more than for anyone else, it's probably true that no-one can fully understand."

His face fell, and he made to turn away, but she laid a hand on his arm and stopped him.  
"Not in the way you think, though. It's just, no-one can know what it's like to have so much responsibility put on their shoulders by something that happened before they were old enough to remember it. No-one knows what it's like to have faced Voldemort when they were only fourteen. And of course, no-one knows what it's like to have dreams where…"

She trailed off as he paled and looked at her desperately, and she squeezed his arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

"To have dreams where they see what's really happened," she said softly, and he looked as though he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "But, we all know what it's like to feel alone. We know what it's like to feel isolated, and like whatever we do we'll be doing something wrong. We know what it's like to be angry, and to feel lost. Maybe not many people your own age, but as we get older, all of us do."

"Even you?"

She smiled.

"At the moment, I'd say especially me," she joked, earning herself a sheepish grin from the teen.

"My point though, Harry, is that just because no-one is going through exactly what you are, it doesn't mean people don't care. Your friends might not be able to change what's happened to you, but they can be there to help as much as possible, and they do care for you a lot."

He scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"I know they do…"

"Don't shut them out, Harry. And if you ever need a grown-up who's completely new to this whole thing, too, then I'm always around."

He looked up at her, his green eyes painfully hopeful and wary, and she felt her heart go out to him.

"Do you mean that?" He asked softly.

"Of course I do. If you ever want some kind of screwed up weird auntie figure in your life to give you a talking to, or a hug, or a slap for that matter-" at this, Harry grinned. "-then I'm happy to do that. We can't do everything on our own, Harry."

He smiled and nodded.

"Thanks."

"Anytime. Now, try and get an hour or so of sleep before breakfast, or else you'll be getting that slap sooner than you think."

He grinned, his face suddenly becoming boyish and looking just as young as his fifteen years.

"Cheers," he paused, and then caught her eye with a sly smile. "Auntie B."

She laughed, and he only just ducked out of the way of her playful slap, before giving the portrait the password, and hurrying inside out of her reach.

As the Fat Lady swung closed behind him, Amelia let her smile fall. The poor boy really was so young, to have gone through as much as she already had - and that made Severus' attack even worse. She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes and began the walk back to her quarters. Outside, the weather was turning cold and grey, and as she wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the cold, she shivered. It was nearly Christmas. She wished, with all her heart, that she could go back home.

/…/

A shorter one this time! The next will see us during Christmas at Grimmauld Place. What do you think will happen there?


	20. Grimmauld Place

Chapter 20 – Grimmauld Place

It wasn't home. The wallpaper was peeling, the air dank and musty, and the shrieks of Walburga Black's portrait and the incessant muttering of the creeping elf, Kreacher, could be heard at intervals whenever anyone crossed their paths. But for the first time in a long time, Amelia couldn't stop smiling.

Perhaps it was the contagious laughter of the Weasley twins, or the air of celebration throughout the house following the news that Mr Weasley would make a full recovery. It might have been Molly's constant cooking and twittering, Hermione and Ron's perpetual bickering, or Harry's quiet contentment at being away from the staring eyes of the school, and back with the one man he thought of as true family. Or perhaps – just perhaps - it was Sirius Black himself.

"And then," the man grinned, mid-way through another tale. "James and I slipped out of the window on his broomstick, and all we could hear as we flew away, was Filch choking and cursing as the dungbombs filled the whole corridor!"

The entire table roared, and Amelia, sitting opposite Sirius and between Harry and Hermione, choked on her Butterbeer.

"Brilliant!" The Weasley twins said together, and Sirius winked.

"What was even more brilliant, was that they had to cancel Divination for a month. It took them that long to get rid of the smell!"

Another burst of laughter, and Sirius settled back in his chair, sending another wink towards Amelia that, uncharacteristically, made her blush.

"Right, you lot," Molly said, bustling over from where she'd been setting the dishes to wash themselves in the ancient sink. "Christmas tomorrow, so it's off to bed with all of you."

"Aw come on, Mum!" Fred complained.

"We're not little kids anymore!" George whined.

"Yeah, and it's way early still!" Ron added, as Ginny nodded emphatically at his side.

Harry, for his part, simply looked imploringly at Sirius, but realising that he was smiling, somewhat knowingly, at Amelia over the table, immediately got to his feet with a smirk and motioned between them to Hermione.

"No arguments, you're still my babies, after all!" Molly said leaning in to give George a kiss that he swiftly ducked. "And daddy's back tomorrow, so there'll be no sleeping in."

Between the mention of their dad and Hermione and Harry gesturing subtly between Sirius and Amelia, the Weasley clan and the trio left far quicker than Molly had expected. As she turned back at the door to face the room, and noticed the way Amelia's blush stood out on her cheeks, the matriarch let an indulgent smile play over her lips, and cleared her throat.

Both Sirius and Amelia looked at her and smiled, Amelia self-consciously, and blushing still deeper, and Sirius with a rakish grin that made her chuckle internally.

"I think I'm going to turn in now, too," she said, untying her apron.

"No, stay!" Amelia insisted.

"We were just going to have a drink before bed," Sirius agreed, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Why don't you join us?"'

But Molly had seen the signs often enough to know when two people wanted to be alone, and she simply shook her head and smiled.

"No, no, it's quite alright dears. Big day tomorrow! Got to be ready for Arthur to come home after all."

At this, despite her efforts, her face betrayed her worry, and Amelia got up from her seat and hugged her gently. She squeezed the younger woman, who she was already thinking of as one of her own brood, and chuckled through her choked throat.

"Oh, I'm just being silly," she sniffed, pulling away and hanging her apron up on the back of the door.

"Not at all," Amelia said seriously. "It must have been the worst shock of your life."

She breathed in deeply, and smiled in response, aware that Amelia, much like Dumbledore, had a keen perception that was rare to find.

"It was, dear, it was," she agreed. "But he's alright now, and tomorrow we'll have him home for Christmas."

Amelia smiled.

"Are you sure you won't stay for a drink, Molly?" Sirius asked, but she shook her head again.

"No, not tonight. Goodnight both of you."

"Night, Molly," Amelia said, giving her arm a last squeeze, and she smiled at them as she left the room.

As the door closed behind her, Amelia turned back to face Sirius, who raised the bottle to her and grinned.

"Drink?"

She nodded.

"Why not?"

/…/

Many hours later, the two of them were still sitting at the table, howling with laughter, the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey at their side, and a silencing spell cast on the door to stop the Weasley's Extendable Ears from eavesdropping on their conversation. Staring across the table at the roguish, gleeful face, still handsome despite the years spent in Azkaban, Amelia felt a thrill of joy.

It had been so long since she'd laughed – really, and truly laughed - with someone so much like her. Sirius was sociable, exuberant, and had a thousand stories to tell. Tales of late nights in bars, summers spent with friends, and long weeks spent squeezing the most out of all life had to offer. He reminded her of herself, before she'd come to Hogwarts and her entire world had changed.

For every story he told, she had another to match. The night she and her friends had stayed up all night drinking, strolled into brunch the next day, and ordered nothing but champagne. The days lounging in the sun, smoking, eating, laughing. The thrill of travelling to somewhere new, the world alive with people and joy and new things to be seen. The excitement of a new place with old friends; her favourite ever moments.

Oh, how she missed them! Sitting and sharing stories with Sirius, she felt their loss like an open wound - a thing of the past just like her independence. Was it really only a few months ago she'd had her own home? Was it such a short amount of time since she'd been able to stroll down the street whenever she'd wanted, and see whomever she pleased? In all of the magic, the excitement, and the danger, she'd forgotten just how much she had already lost. It hurt, far more than she'd imagined, but Sirius, at least, understood.

"Oh, I miss those times," he said, chuckling and wiping the moisture from his eyes.

"So do I," she said softly.

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"Ah, but you'll have them again," he smiled.

She shook her head slowly.

"I used to think so, but now I'm not so sure."

She sighed, and Sirius thinned his lips in sympathy.

"Life," he said wryly. "It's never what you thought it would be, is it?"

She smiled.

"No, it certainly isn't."

They stared at each other for a moment, the tension palpable in the air. Slowly, he raised his hand and let his finger brush a strand of hair back from her face. She dropped her eyes and felt her cheeks burn.

"You're beautiful, you know," he said softly, and she blushed still further.

"Don't be ridiculous," she answered.

He touched his knuckles gently to a spot beneath her chin, and she felt her heartbeat quicken as he raised her eyes to meet his.

"You are."

Her breath caught in her throat. He was so close that she could smell the scent of whiskey on his breath, and feel heat radiating from his body. Softly, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb, and she felt her mouth go dry. A moment passed in which they stared at each other silently, and she thought about how easy it would be. How simple, to lean forward and feel his lips against hers. How easy, to fall into his arms and let the warmth of him, the strength, chase all of her fears away.

But as the moment came, something held her back, and she dropped her eyes and pulled away, her mind a jumble of conflicting feelings. She felt him stiffen slightly, and then his hand was on top of hers again, and she dared to meet his gaze. He was smiling at her, his eyes crinkled around the edges, and not a trace of anger in the lines of his face.

"Don't worry," he said. "You've only just got here, and I understand if that was a bit forward. It's just, I spend all of my time alone in this bloody depressing house, and sometimes I get a bit carried away."

She laced her fingers through his sympathetically.

"It's not that I don't' want to, it's just…"

"You don't know if you don't want to or not yet?"

She laughed and nodded.

"Something like that."

He nodded and squeezed her fingers.

"I understand. If you ever change your mind, you'll know where to find me."

/…/

Lying alone in her bed that night, Amelia listened to the sounds the old house made, and wondered just what had held her back. She missed her friends, and she missed her freedom. She'd laughed so much with Sirius, but really, she'd only known him for a few short days. It wouldn't be right to fall straight into his arms just because she was feeling lonely, would it?

But somewhere, deep inside a part of herself she couldn't acknowledge, she knew that wasn't the only reason. Even though she tried not to, she still found herself thinking of Severus. The lonely, brilliant, complicated man spending Christmas alone in the castle. What would he feel if he were to discover that at the first opportunity, she'd jumped into bed with someone else? Not that they were together, or even _thinking_ about being together – no, definitely not - but it seemed wrong to be with someone else as well.

She buried her face into her pillow and growled in frustration. It wasn't any of Severus' business if she became close to Sirius – especially not after how he'd treated Harry! So why was she still thinking about him? This was ridiculous.

"I refuse to think about Severus Snape," she said aloud, pulling her pillow over her head, and burrowing deeper into the covers. "I am going to sleep, and that's it."

And eventually, she did.

/…/

In Hogwarts, deep in the dungeons in his own bedroom, Severus pulled his own pillow over his face and sighed.

"I am not thinking about Amelia," he told himself.

Unfortunately for him, there was no doubt that he was.

/…/

A shorter one this time! What do you think?


	21. Christmas Day

It's been a while since I've written anything, I know, but for those of you who've wanted a little more development between Amelia and Severus, I think you'll enjoy this chapter!

/…/

Chapter 21 – Christmas Day

The Weasley clan were in full celebration mode, and the walls of Grimmauld Place rang with their laughter and the sound of crackers popping, their festive charms echoing, fizzing, and sparkling through the house. Molly had cooked enough food to feed a small army, Sirius had brought out the Firewhiskey early, and while the underage wizards sipped on Butterbeer and taunted Ron for his Christmas present, the adults laughed uproariously.

Sitting next to Sirius on a sofa in the library - the surfaces littered with presents, wrapping paper, and food - wearing her very own hand-knitted Weasley jumper (in red, with a great golden A embroidered on the front), it seemed to Amelia that everything was alright with the world. Her stomach aching with food and laughter, she sighed contentedly, and as the man beside her slipped a friendly arm around her shoulder, she leaned into him comfortably, and grinned.

From across the room, Harry caught her eye, his face flushed with Butterbeer and the effort of evading the twins' attempts to manhandle him into a garish pink blouse, and smiled. For once, he was a carefree teenager, and for just a moment, Amelia allowed herself to believe that things didn't have to be complicated.

/…/

In the castle, Severus sipped at a Firewhiskey of his own, and considered again, that he'd rarely felt lonelier. As was customary, Dumbledore had knocked on his door at the crack of dawn, wearing ridiculous bright purple robes embroidered with yellow Christmas trees, and with tinsel threaded through his beard. Despite Snape's grumpy protestations that it was beyond the pale to be woken at such an ungodly hour, the old man had thrust a present into his hands, and taken up his usual position in the chair opposite his by the fireplace.

For two hours, the Headmaster had chatted about this and that, popping Christmas candies into his mouth and entreating Snape to open his present – which had turned out to be a rather stunning old Potions collection, styled in dark green leather with silver lettering. Generally, though, the Headmaster had made a nuisance of himself.

After Snape had finally had his coffee and woken up a bit, he'd handed Dumbledore his present – a spectacularly tacky singing teapot that the Headmaster had beamed over and refused to stop playing with, until Snape had snatched it back from his hands – and then just as soon as he'd arrived, the old man had left.

Of course, he'd invited Snape up to the Great Hall to have Christmas dinner with the other teachers and students who'd remained behind for the holiday, but the Potions Master wasn't that desperate, was he? Now, though, it was only 3pm, and he was, he had to admit, feeling sorry for himself. The other teachers had given him presents, through duty more than friendship, but he knew for a fact that no-one was missing him. Not for the first time, he contemplated the bleakness of his life, and try though he might, he couldn't stop himself from wondering what Amelia would be doing right now.

He imagined that Christmas with the Weasleys was exactly the kind of frivolous hellscape he despised. Mountains of presents, home-cooked food, with shouting and laughing and entirely far too much noise for his taste. But as he considered that he'd never once been invited to enjoy a family Christmas – not even with his own family, really – he felt a familiar pang of hurt, and gazed around at his empty quarters sadly.

Just was he was berating himself for having sunk so low as to pine for the Weasleys, of all people, to take him in, he felt the mark on his arm burn, and his glass fell to the floor and shattered. He groaned. He'd been waiting for his summons following Arthur Weasley's escape, because of course he was going to have to come up with an explanation that didn't involve a clairvoyant Boy-Who-Lives, but _today_?

As the pain in his arm intensified, he sent his Patronus to Dumbledore to inform him of his whereabouts, and as the light from the doe left his sight, he flung on his Death Eater robes, and went to meet his fate.

/…/

Later that evening, Grimmauld Place was having a party. After a few too many drinks, the adults had been persuaded by the younger witches and wizards to throw an impromptu Christmas bash, and practically everyone had been happy to oblige. From the kitchen, to the library, to the living room, Christmas songs rang through the home, and what seemed like the entirety of the Hogwarts staff were there.

Hagrid was monopolising a very large sofa, and having a heated discussion with Lupin and Professor Flitwick about the benefits of dragon-keeping; Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were playing wizards chess and sampling yet another plate of Molly's Christmas cake; and even Madame Pomfrey was giggling slightly drunkenly in a corner, as the Weasley twins showed her their new variety of puking pastilles, and assured her there would be no lasting damage to the students.

The one person that Amelia had hoped might come, however, hadn't. From across the room, Harry could see the slightly strained nature of her smile, and although he was incredibly happy the Potions Master hadn't showed up, he still felt bad for her. Even with Sirius as a distraction, she kept looking towards the door as though expecting the greasy git to swoop in, and even though he didn't understand it, he knew what it was like to need someone who wasn't coming.

But still, it was Christmas, and what was Christmas for if not for having fun? Feeling particularly cheeky, and not at all like himself, he unwrapped one of the twins' indoor fireworks, and with a sly grin towards Ron, let it rip. All at once, the house was filled with showers of sparks, bangs, and lewd words written through the air.

Pandemonium broke loose as the contraption whirred and screamed through every room, upending the chess set, getting tangled in Hagrid's beard, and tipping Sirius and Amelia from their seats. Molly was screaming, the twins and the trio were doubled over with laughter, and as Dumbledore smiled benignly at them all, Harry saw a joyful laugh light up Amelia's face as Sirius pulled her back to her feet, and he knew that he'd made the right choice.

/…/

Across the country, on an inhospitable spit of land somewhere on the coast, Severus was screaming. All he knew was pain. It bled through his body like a knife, burning in his muscles and drawing guttural sounds from his mouth that he hadn't realised he was capable of making. He'd disappointed the Dark Lord, and now he was being punished. Punished because he wouldn't tell him that Potter had seen through his eyes, punished because to Voldemort, his spy wasn't working hard enough. Punished because for his Master, inflicting pain was the ultimate festivity.

 _Crucio!  
_

Severus screamed again, his nerves and mind quaking in agony, his body writhing in the centre of the circle of jeering Deatheaters.

 _Oh, gods,_ he thought helplessly. _Please. I can't do this anymore._

And then the pain redoubled.

/…/

Hours later, a silver doe leapt into Grimmauld Place, and all eyes turned to face it. Dumbledore climbed to his feet and the creature stepped towards him. Silence descended over the room, and the Headmaster's face grew grave as the Patronus murmured softly in his ear. After a moment's pause, a silver phoenix burst from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, and flew swiftly from the room. He turned to face the gathered party, his blue eyes crackling with sadness.

"I'm afraid that Severus has a report to give to me, on today of all days," he said softly. "Fawkes will be bringing him here now, if there are no objections, Sirius?"

Sirius scowled unhappily, but shrugged his shoulders nonetheless, and the effect was instantaneous.

The teachers immediately left the kitchen to give them privacy, towing the protesting younger witches and wizards with them. Sirius huffed through his nose and pointedly took a seat at the head of the table, and Molly cast a worried look towards Dumbledore, before wheeling Arthur down the corridor towards the library. Soon, only Amelia, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore remained – each for their own reasons.

Dumbledore, because he needed to see Severus; Sirius, because he needed to remind the greasy git who was the boss in this house; Remus, to keep a handle on Sirius; and Amelia, because the thought of the Potions Master having spent his Christmas at the hands of Voldemort, made her feel slightly nauseous, and she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she hadn't made sure he was ok.

A tense few minutes passed in which nobody spoke, and then a burst of flame exploded into the kitchen, dazzling them all, and in a blur of burning phoenix, Severus Snape landed in front of them.

/…/

 _Of course_ , Snape had thought bitterly, when Dumbledore's message had come through. _Of course_ they were having a party, and _of course_ he'd have to see Sirius, and _of course_ he couldn't just crawl back to his chambers and collapse alone in peace. But the only thing he thought as he was jolted into Grimmauld Place, was how desperately he didn't want to show weakness. As he landed in the stinking kitchen in a flurry of mythical bird, through sheer force of will more than anything else, he managed to stay on his feet.

Gritting his teeth against the white-hot shocks of pain that leapt from his toes to the tips of his ears, he schooled his face into its customary sneer, and gazed around the room. As always, seeing Sirius and Remus gawking at him like overgrown schoolboys did nothing to improve his mood, but the real shock came when his eyes landed on Amelia, with her arm partially outstretched towards him and her face a mask of concern.

It took all of the self-control he possessed not to fly straight into her arms, but somehow, he didn't move a muscle. Even as the Cruciatus tremors began to tremble through his hands, and the fear he'd kept at bay during his many hours of torture threatened to overwhelm him, he stood perfectly still, met her eyes without flinching, and turned calmly to face Dumbledore.

"Sorry to interrupt the _festivities_ ," he sneered convincingly. "But the Dark Lord hasn't been on holiday."

He heard Sirius snort in derision and felt his anger flare.

"Something you'd like to say, Black?" He asked dangerously.

Clearly drunk, and even more insufferable than ever, Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Spare us the theatrics, Snivellus, and get to the point," he drawled. "Some of us have better things to be doing with our time."

On any other day, the insult would have been a minor one he'd easily have shaken off, but today something was different. Today was Christmas day, and he'd spent it alone. He'd been tortured, beaten, and terrified, and worse than all of that, he'd known that no-one was coming for him, because nobody had ever cared about what happened to him – no-one, at least, since Lily, and although he'd thought that Amelia might, he'd ruined that as well, and he couldn't bear to look at her now, even for a moment.

The awkward, lonely child inside him that so desperately wanted to be loved seemed to swell in his chest, and he fought to keep his composure when all he really wanted to do was ask them: _why_? Why did you hate me? Why did you bully me? Why were you so cruel? Why won't anyone ever look after me? Why am I always the one alone and in pain? Why doesn't anybody _care_?

But of course, he didn't say any of that. Instead, he raised his eyebrow condescendingly, and turned pointedly back to Dumbledore.

"The Dark Lord is getting impatient," he informed him. "He wants to know how we knew that Arthur was injured."  
"Does he suspect Harry's involvement?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape shook his head.

"No, I managed to keep that from him, but it won't be long before I have to give him some form of explanation."

"How long do you think we have?"

"Based on today? Not long at all."

Dumbledore studied him carefully, and Snape shifted on his feet, trying desperately to ignore his increasing pain as every muscle in his body began to cramp and shake.

"How impatient is he?" Dumbledore asked gently, and Snape knew the question was loaded.

"Very," he said, his voice going only slightly hoarse, much to his relief.

As Dumbledore nodded in grim understanding, Sirius leant back in his chair and scoffed.

"Well, we all know you're just waiting for an excuse to sell Harry out to your real master, Snivelly" he sneered. "Why not just get it over with, and shed your skin like the snake we all know you are?"

Snape rounded on him, incensed. After everything, everything he'd gone through to protect the boy today, this drunk fool wanted to mock him, did he? Well, he'd show him, He'd-

-But before he could say anything, Amelia stepped between them, her eyes blazing with anger.

"For God's sake, Sirius!" She shouted. "That's enough! Can't you see he's in pain?"

The simple statement shocked them both. Snape, because he thought he'd been hiding it so well, and Sirius, because he hadn't really looked. Now that he did, he could see it in the hardened lines of Snape's face, the way his hands shook, the trembling in his legs that could only mean one thing:

"He used the _Cruciatus_ on you?" Sirius, as tactful as ever, said in disbelief, and Snape felt himself pale.

Anger and hatred he was used to dealing with, but the sympathy he could feel radiating off all of them was enough to test the strength of his resolve a thousand times over. He'd never felt so desperately fragile in his life, and as Amelia made a move towards him he pulled back sharply, knowing instinctively that the moment she touched him, he'd fall apart.

"If that's all, Dumbledore," he managed to choke out in a semblance of normality. "I think I'll finish my Christmas at the castle."

Without waiting for an answer, he swept from the room, his self-control hanging by a thread, and his feet pounding down the hallway floor as snatches of Christmas music drifted towards him from beneath the ancient doors. Just as he reached the front door, he heard movement behind him, and braced himself for what was to come.

"Professor, wait!" His formal title sounded wrong on her lips, and he reached out a hand for the door.

"Professor Snape!" She was getting closer, but he wasn't going to turn around, he wasn't, he-

"Severus, please."

His whole body froze, and in the moment it took for him to decide what to do, she came to a stop right behind him.

"Severus," she said softly, and his throat began to burn. "Severus, please look at me."

No, no, no, this was too cruel. She didn't care about him, she didn't, she _couldn't_ after what he'd done. So why toy with him? Why pretend? He didn't think he could stand it. He _couldn't_ stand it.

"Please," he found himself whispering, his voice choked and tormented. "Please, don't."

He felt her take a step closer to him, and fought to stay in control.

"Severus," she said again, her voice gentle and soft. "Look at me."

Steeling himself, and knowing that he was on the edge of a precipice he might not be able to come back from, he straightened to his full height, and turned. Amelia's concerned brown eyes met his own pain-ridden black, and a need so great burnt in his chest that he barely managed to hold himself together. They stayed that way, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then, in one fluid movement, and without saying a word, she stepped up to him, slipped her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his shoulder.

His breath caught in his throat and he stood there for a single second, so stunned that he simply couldn't move. She had hugged him. She _was_ hugging him. He rifled through his memories for any time previously in his life when anyone had tried to comfort him like this, and to his utter despair, he couldn't find a single one.

Acting purely on instinct, and simply because he didn't think he could stand it if she pulled away, he brought his arms around her, and all of a sudden, his mask fell apart. He pulled her closer, clutching her to him desperately, his fingers fisting through the soft wool of her jumper and clinging there for dear life. As she tightened her grip around him, he dropped his head and buried his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder, his breathing growing laboured as he struggled to draw in enough of her all at once.

She smelt of whiskey, and orange blossom, and spice, her body warm and solid against his own as he broke out in great wracking shudders and felt a wave of emotion knock the breath right out of him.

"It's ok, Severus," she murmured softly into his ear. "You're safe now."

And with those three words, he fell apart.

To his horror and shame, hot tears tumbled from beneath his closed eyelids and streamed down his cheeks. A painful sob broke apart in his throat and he muffled the sound in her skin. He could feel her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, and the other trailing gently through his hair. No-one, no-one touched Severus Snape like that. It didn't happen. It _hadn't_ ever happened, and now that it was, he couldn't stand for it to end.

Wholly incapable of controlling himself anymore, his shoulders shook with silent sobs, and he felt his legs grow weak as he clung onto her for support. He could feel the skin beneath his cheek growing damp with his own tears, but he was powerless to stop them. And as she nuzzled her face into his hair and whispered soothing sounds into his ear, he muffled the whimpering noise now breaking from his mouth by biting down hard on the fabric beneath him.

With the weeping man held firmly in her arms, silent tears rolled down Amelia's face. She breathed in the smell of him, sandalwood and musk, and pressed her face into his hair, determined to give him as much comfort as she could. She'd never met a man so desperately in need of kindness before, and as he trembled and sobbed against her, she made a silent promise that she'd do whatever it took to make him feel cared for.

/…/

Unnoticed by both of them, the house had fallen quiet. Three sets of doors were open onto the hallway, and the Order of the Phoenix stood watching the scene play out in astonished silence. Molly, Poppy, and Minerva had tears in their eyes; Hagrid, Arthur, and Remus stared guiltily on; Sirius' face showed only disgust; and for the gathered students, their shock couldn't have been greater if Alastor Moody had walked into the room wearing a dress and singing showtunes.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore motioned for them all to leave, and as they slipped back inside their respective rooms, he sent Fawkes to envelop the heart-wrenching pair, and in a flash, transported them back to Hogwarts.

/…/

So… What do you think? Too much? Too little? Reviews always welcome!


	22. Christmas Night

Chapter 22 – Christmas Night

Amelia felt the warmth of Fawkes envelop them and braced herself for the jolt, screwing up her eyes against the movement without relinquishing her grasp on Severus. As their feet hit solid ground, though, the last of his strength seemed to leave him, and he collapsed against her and slid to the floor, his fingers still twisted through the hem of her jumper.

For a short moment, she looked down at the broken man, his head bowed in shame and sadness and his hair sticking to his face with tears. He still hadn't opened his eyes, and she doubted he knew where he was anymore; only that it hurt. Every protective instinct she possessed flared into life, and soundlessly, she knelt at his side and wrapped her arms around him again.

The strangled note of disbelief and joy that broke from his throat was one she wouldn't forget for the rest of her life. Without hesitation, and without daring to look at her, he dropped his head back onto her shoulder and hid his face from the world. She hushed him gently, and cast a murderous glare over his shoulder towards the Headmaster, who was standing behind his desk and staring at them expressionlessly.

When Snape's sobs had quieted and he'd lapsed into a mortified silence against her, she relaxed her grip slightly to better focus on Dumbledore.

"I suppose, Headmaster," she began icily. "You have a reason for bringing us to your office, and not to Severus's quarters?"

Still pressed against her, Snape's body went rigid, and if it was at all possible, he tightened his grip around her still further.

"I think, Miss Bristol, it would be beneficial for us to talk," the Headmaster answered, without a trace of his customary twinkle.

/…/

Severus barely felt the phoenix apparate them away, but as his feet hit the floor his body flared with pain, and his straining muscles finally gave up the fight to keep him upright. Tortured by shame, he sank to his knees, his eyes screwed shut against a reality he could hardly bear to process. It had finally happened: his Occlumency barriers had failed him, and all of the grief he'd kept barricaded behind them was flooding out in a maelstrom of horror he couldn't control. He was weak. He was pathetic. He was a coward.

And yet, he couldn't seem to let go of the one woman so foolish enough to have tried to comfort him. Hating himself more than he'd thought possible, he kept his fingers wrapped through the stitches of her jumper like a child, waiting for the moment she'd disentangle them, and his process of total collapse would be complete.

But then she'd knelt at his side, and wrapped her arms around him again. In that moment, he'd flown to her without a thought, desperate to prolong this fantasy in which someone truly cared for him. He could no more have let go of her than he could have jumped off the Astronomy Tower and lived, and despite the deep self-loathing coursing through every fibre of his body, he knew that he'd stay enfolded in her arms until she, or someone else, forced him to leave.

And then she'd spoken, and panic surged through him like a tidal wave. Albus had brought them to his office, and it could only mean one thing - the Headmaster was furious, and he was going to be punished. Oh, everyone thought that Albus was so benign and forgiving, but Snape was under no illusions about the nature of their agreement. He was afforded the Headmaster's protection, and even his friendship, but only under the strict promise that he was able to carry out his duties as a spy, and Dumbledore had only recently made it clear that that meant putting an end to his association with Amelia.

Swallowing down the years' worth of sobs still building in his throat, he pressed his face still deeper into her shoulder and clung to her like a man drowning. If he had to let go, if he had to be alone, then he would remember every last second of this, even if it meant he'd mourn its passing forever.

"Perhaps you should both take a seat," Albus said, and Amelia shifted beneath him.

Warily, much like a caged animal, Snape opened his stinging eyes and lifted his head from her shoulder. The two chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk moved backwards, awaiting them in silent reproach. With a final loss of hope, he let his arms fall to his sides, and instantly became aware of the pain still thrumming through his body, and the dark, hopeless space now yawning in his chest.

For the first time since she'd hugged him, he stole a glance at Amelia, and was instantly taken aback by the hate-filled stare she was still levelling at Dumbledore.

"Don't you have even the most basic of cares for him?" She shot at the Headmaster, and both men stared at her in confusion.

Gentling her expression as she turned back to face him, she cupped his face tenderly in one hand, and smoothed away the last of his tears. He leaned into her touch, his eyes searching hers desperately for comfort.

"How much pain are you in?" She asked quietly.

He frowned, confused. There were no words to describe the pain he was in, and for once, he didn't know how to answer.

"Is it a lot?" She pressed, and he nodded wordlessly as his jumbled thoughts struggled to understand what she meant.

With a single flick of her wand, the plush sofa at the back of the room sprang into motion, and knocked the hard wooden chairs into a corner. He felt his heart swell, as he realised that she'd done it for him - and that he'd never even thought about doing the same. He'd been so used to collapsing into the unforgiving wood at the end of a meeting with the Dark Lord, that he'd never so much as questioned whether there was a better alternative. From the pained expression on Dumbledore's face, it was clear the older wizard hadn't either.

Still dumbfounded, Snape allowed himself to be helped gently to his feet, but as soon as he tried to walk he found his muscles wouldn't co-operate. He sank back to the ground and bit back a groan of pain, his hand unconsciously seeking out Amelia's as he screwed up his face against the tremors wracking his body.

"It's ok," she whispered softly, her hand rubbing circles on his back again. "You're safe, it's nearly over, you're ok."

If it wasn't for the strength of Dumbledore's presence in the room, he would have wept all over again. Instead, he squeezed her hand tightly and breathed heavily through the pain, his head bowed to hide his face from the man still watching him from across the room.

When he'd finally stopped seeing flashing lights and the pain had receded again, Amelia managed to tow him over to the desk, and he whimpered as she lowered him carefully onto the soft cushions. He sank back into them gratefully, exhaustion settling over him like a dead weight, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open as he leant his head back against the soft fabric.

He looked up anxiously as Amelia's arms left his shoulders and she straightened to her full height, and only the last shreds of his pride prevented him from begging her to stay and to keep holding tightly onto his hand. Now, though, she was gazing at Dumbledore with a fury he'd never seen on her face before, and despite himself, he felt a small thrill of joy that she was doing it all for him.

/…/

"Is there something you'd like to say, Miss Bristol?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and she felt her temper flare, but there was one thing she needed to do first before she let him have a piece of her mind.

"Do you have a store of potions here?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

"I do."

She gritted her teeth, and when she spoke her voice was trembling with rage.

"Then may I suggest, Headmaster, that you fetch me a pain-reliever and a nerve-regeneration potion before Severus collapses entirely?"

The older wizard had the good grace to look shame-faced, but as the summoned potions flew into her outstretched hand, it took all of the self-control she had not to swear in his face. She couldn't believe that _this_ was the kind of "friendship" Severus thought was normal. To be tortured, abused, and then left to suffer in pain until Dumbledore had got the report he wanted. It was unthinkable. It was barbaric. At the moment, though, he was her first priority.

Un-stoppering the pain reliever first, she perched on the arm of the sofa and slipped a hand behind the Potion Master's head for support.

"Drink this," she said gently. "You'll feel better soon."

Obediently, and with a look of such gratitude that it very nearly broke her heart, he allowed her to tip the contents of the vial into his mouth, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips as it began to take effect.

She did the same with the other vial, and when she was done, she watched as his legs stopped twitching and an expression of peace flitted over his face.

"Better?" She asked.

He turned his head to face her, and the appreciation and surprise in his eyes as he nodded made her throat burn with sadness. Despite the potions, it was clear he was still incapable of moving, or really of saying anything much at all, and the realisation redoubled her anger. She turned to face the Headmaster, her expression thunderous.

"Say what you have to say, Albus, but don't think for one moment that I don't have something to say too."

Albus considered her for a long second, his expression thoughtful, and when he began to speak, Snape braced himself for the onslaught.

"I understand that you and Severus have become friends," he began. "And I know that to you, the things he must suffer are unforgivable."

Amelia folded her arms and bit down hard to prevent herself from interrupting.  
"However," Dumbledore continued forcefully. "The role Severus plays is one that's vital to us all. Without the information he brings us, this war may be lost before it has even begun. I am far from ignorant of the pain he suffers to do this, and he has had both my greatest respect and my truest friendship for a great many years now."

"But?" Amelia pressed, knowing that it was to come.

"But, although you may think you are doing him a kindness, you must be aware that you are putting him in more danger every time you seek to force your friendship upon him."

Both Amelia and Snape opened their mouths to protest, but Dumbledore held up his hands.

"I don't mean to say that Severus doesn't want your friendship, Miss Bristol. To me, as it must be to you, it's all too clear that he does."

At this, Severus felt an embarrassed blush tinge his cheeks and he dropped his face to his hands.

"But ask yourself, truthfully, just what has this friendship brought him so far? He risked his life to bring you safely to this castle, not just in the fire, but in the lies he was forced to tell Voldemort about his involvement."

Amelia shifted uncomfortably, knowing it to be true.

"By monopolising his time in the first few weeks you were here – which, I have to say, I encouraged – you led him to neglect his duties, and he was tortured by Voldemort, again, when he was unable to provide him with information about you."

Guilt curdled in her stomach, and she shot a glance towards Severus, who was studiously avoiding her gaze. He hadn't mentioned _that_ to her.

"And after you were attacked, Severus risked his life, yet again, to bring you out of your mind and back into our world. And what did you do then?"

She felt her face burn with shame, and this time, she was the one avoiding Snape's pained expression.

"I distanced myself from him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied.

Steeling herself, she raised her gaze to face the wounded expression of the man beside her.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. "It wasn't that I didn't want to see you."

He looked away, hardly daring to hope that it was true, and she moved swiftly to capture his hand with her own. He didn't return her grip, or turn back to face her, but she knew that he was listening.

"It's just that, after I woke up, I didn't know who I was anymore. Everything I thought I knew about myself had been blown apart, and every time I closed my eyes I remembered what they did to me, and…"

She paused, struggling to find the words that wouldn't hurt him.

"And you'd seen all of it, too," she whispered at last, and he closed his eyes as though in physical pain. "Whenever you looked at me, I knew that you were remembering it, and I couldn't bear to have you think of me like that."

Snape made as though to pull his hand away, his expression stricken, but she clung on more tightly and moved even closer to him.

"No, please, just listen," she pleaded, and he stilled momentarily, but continued to avoid her gaze. "I wasn't sure I could be a friend to you when I didn't know who I was anymore, and I was scared that I'd hurt you if I got too close when I didn't know whether or not it was the right thing or not – for either of us."

He stared off to the side, but didn't try to pull away again.

"The morning after you woke up, though, I'd made up my mind to come and see you and talk it through," he flicked his eyes towards her before looking away again. "But then, I ran into Harry, and…"

She saw shame colour his cheeks and he made as if to pull away again, but she held him fast.

"It's true, I wasn't sure what to think," she said gently, and he closed his eyes in torment. "But while I was with the Weasleys, I couldn't stop thinking about you. And when Dumbledore said you were coming after spending the day with _him_ …"

She could feel Snape trembling against her, and tears filled her eyes again. She squeezed his hand gently, but he didn't respond.

"Oh, Severus, I was so worried," she drew a shaky breath in, her voice thick with emotion. "And when you arrived there, and you were so clearly in so much _pain_." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she felt him shift infinitesimally towards her. "I knew then, that no matter what, I wanted you to be safe, and more than that… I knew that no matter what happened, I wanted to be there for you. In whatever way you needed me to be."

Silence descended over the room, and she could almost see the internal war he was waging with himself. She held her breath, her eyes brimming with tears, and then without warning, his hand closed tightly around hers, and he tugged her roughly from her perch on the arm of the chair. She slipped into his lap and immediately wrapped her arms around him tightly. He returned her action in kind, his face pressed into her neck and his whole body trembling with repressed emotion.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered in his ear. "Can you forgive me?"

His only answer was to hold her tighter, and she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and pretended not to notice the flash of fear in his eyes as she did.

They would have stayed that way all night, were it not for the man sitting opposite them. When they finally pulled apart, Amelia remained sitting on Severus's knee, one hand clasped tightly around his as she glared defiantly at the Headmaster. Albus steepled his fingers together and sighed.

"You misunderstand me, Miss Bristol," he said resignedly. "I don't doubt your feelings for each other – far from it, in fact."

"Then what's the problem?" She challenged. "Surely, he needs all the support he can get, if you're determined to have him play this role for much longer?"

At this, Dumbledore got to his feet, anger in the lines of his face.

"Do not simplify this for your own ends, Amelia!" He said, his voice thunderous. "Think, I implore you. Really, and truly think about what this would mean. You've seen what Voldemort is capable of if he isn't obeyed implicitly, and for the first time in fifteen years, tonight, Severus's Occlumency shields have failed him. Did you ever stop to think about why this time was different? Or about what it could mean if they fail him again in Voldemort's presence?"

Amelia paled, and she felt Severus stiffen beneath her as she struggled to find her voice.

"You mean, that they failed because of me? That if I'm here, then he's more vulnerable?"

Dumbledore sagged wearily back into his seat, real sadness in his eyes for the first time.

"Yes," he said sadly. "That is exactly what I mean. Sometimes, in a war, we can't afford to let those we care about grow too close to us. While love and friendship are what we are fighting for, they can also be our downfall."

Here he turned to face Severus, who was watching him with a stricken expression on his face.

"My boy," the Headmaster said softly. "You've been alone for so long – by your own design more than any rules that I placed upon you – and it used to pain me greatly. When Amelia first arrived here I was delighted that you'd finally seen fit to open your heart to someone, but seeing what it's wrought… I thought perhaps you were over-zealous in your attempts to prevent anyone from getting close to you, but now I see that the best of you that you've always kept hidden, is also the most dangerous."

Snape dropped his gaze from Dumbledore's, the truth of the man's words seeming to burn him from the inside. He'd known it; he'd known that he was unworthy, that the simple pleasures other people found so easy were closed to him. But somehow, it was worse, now that he'd dared to hope. But the Headmaster kept going, his voice, though gentle, piercing Snape like a knife.

"You do not give your trust or your love easily, my boy, but when you do, you do so fiercely. It is, perhaps, your greatest strength, but with the barriers you must erect to keep Voldemort from entering your mind, it is also perhaps your greatest weakness. Why else would it be that Occlumency has failed you now?"

He felt as though his world had been ripped apart. The truth in Dumbledore's words was too much. He felt nausea rise into his throat, his body trembling with the effort it took to keep his emotions in check. All he wanted was to be held, to have someone put their arms around him and whisper that it would all be ok, that he wasn't going to be alone anymore, and that somebody cared; not about the role he had to play, not about the secrets he could give them, but about _him_ , and only him. Was that too much to ask?

But even as Amelia tightened her grip on his hand and draped an arm around his shoulder to rub lightly against his back, he knew that Dumbledore was right. With her there, the temptation to flee into the protection of her arms and tell the rest of the world to leave him alone, was too great. He couldn't afford to lose focus in front of the Dark Lord, to do so would be suicide. And that meant… He drew a shuddering breath in and met Dumbledore's gaze, his expression tortured, but his voice steady.

"You're right, Albus," he said tonelessly, even as Amelia tensed against him. "If I am to continue in my role as a spy, there cannot be any weak points for the Dark Lord to gain access. I…" He swallowed thickly. "I apologise for my behaviour this evening. It was inexcusable, and I assure you it won't happen again."

As he spoke, he slipped his hand from Amelia's, feeling her loss as though someone had died, and wishing desperately that she would move away from him before he lost his nerve altogether. Dumbledore's eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Oh, my poor boy," he said. "I am truly sorry."

Silence enveloped the room. Severus closed his eyes against his grief, memorising the feel of Amelia's body still perched across his knees, and bracing himself for the moment she would leave. For a long time, no-one spoke, and then:

"No."

His eyes flew open in surprise, and he looked up to see Amelia gazing at Dumbledore as though she'd never seen him before.

"How dare you?" she asked softly. "How dare you allow him to think such rubbish?"

She got to her feet, her hands shaking with anger.

"Why is it that friendship makes Harry stronger, but Severus weaker?" She asked dangerously, and Snape's brow furrowed in confusion. "Did you ever stop to think that it might be precisely _because_ he's always been so isolated that he needs to Occlude all of the time? That not having anyone around who will listen to or support him, is why his shields are constantly in place, not just when he's with Voldemort?

At this, Dumbledore looked outraged.

"I have always supported Severus!" He began, but Amelia cut him off with a humourless laugh.

"Yes, but not for _him_!" She said, the outrage plain on her face. "Oh, you support him, Albus. I have no doubt that you may even care for him, but it's not for who _he_ is. Not really. Your first priority, as you've demonstrated to great effect tonight, is always for the information he can bring you – for what he can do to further the cause of the Light. Have you ever come to him simply to talk? To ask about his day? To discern, really and truly, whether he needs support? Or have you simply allowed him to continue, day after day, with no-one to vent to, no-one to listen to his fears, while you send him on these barbaric missions knowing that he'll be harmed?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to argue, but as Snape watched, the truth of his culpability seemed to hit him, and the old man fell silent.

"Exactly," Amelia hissed. "What you saw tonight, I've no doubt was over a decades' worth of fear and hurt finally breaking through. And why? Simply because someone _hugged_ him, Albus!"

Her voice broke, and she turned to face Severus, who found himself reaching for her hand and clasping it in his own, hope warring with the fear in his heart.

"When was the last time you talked to anyone, Severus? When was the last time someone asked you how you were without wanting something from you in return?"

He blanched, knowing what the answer was but hardly daring to voice it. It was Lily. The last time someone had cared, it was Lily.

"Seventeen years ago," he whispered hoarsely. "It's been seventeen years."

Before he could react, with a cry of outrage, Amelia had swooped down on him and pulled him into her chest. His throat constricted and he twisted his fingers through her jumper, his body starting to tremble again.

 _Please_ , he thought desperately. _Please don't leave me._ But he didn't dare voice it out-loud.

What if Dumbledore was right? What if he couldn't perform his duty unless he was alone? But as Amelia's fingers wound their way gently through his hair again, he knew it wasn't a decision he could make. If the Headmaster forbade him from having her in his life, then he would cut her off, and never see her outside of their lessons. If it was Dumbledore's choice, he could do it. But if it wasn't, then he knew that he wouldn't be able to make the same choice himself, quite simply because it would cause him too much pain – and pain was the one thing he'd had altogether too much of.

"Well, Albus?" Amelia asked defiantly, and Snape raised his head to look at his mentor pleadingly. "What will it be?"

Silence. He held his breath as the Headmaster observed them, and then the old man shook his head and slumped back in his chair.

"I don't know," he said heavily. "I confess, I don't know what's for the best anymore."

He paused and looked penetratingly towards him.

"Severus? What do you think?"

His head span. He looked up into Amelia's eyes, her expression gentle with concern and her fingers still trailing lightly through his hair.

Finally, he spoke the one thing he knew to be true.

"I don't want to be on my own anymore."

/…/

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